A Collection Of 221B Drabbles
by Sunshine Through The Storm
Summary: As the title says, a collection of 221B drabbles focusing on our beloved characters and their relationships. Multiple pairings. Disclaimer: Unfortunately the honour belongs to the perpetually brilliant Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat. Rated T for profanity.
1. A Pirate's Life For Me

**Chapter Title:** "Yo Ho, Yo Ho, A Pirate's Life For Me" – A Pirate's Life For Me (Yo Ho), Disney  
**Inspired By:** "But Initially He Wanted To Be A Pirate" Mycroft Holmes, A Scandal In Belgravia  
**Pairings:** Mycroft/Sherlock family fluff  
**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Mycroft!" The tones of the younger bellowed from his bedroom. "Come play with me!"

"Sherlock, I can't come and play with you. I'm working." The elder huffed through gritted teeth.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock burst into the room. The door ricocheted off a meticulously neat stack of textbooks, causing them to cascade across the floor. Mycroft growled. He looked up to shout at his brother. Then he stopped.

"What are you _wearing_?"

"I'm a pirate, Mycroft. And you're my hostage!"

"Oh really, Captain Holmes?" Mycroft smiled. He folded his arms in an act of defiance; his nose stuck into the air. "How do you plan on making me comply?"

Sherlock frowned in thought. He gasped, "You can share my treasure, My." He whipped his blunted dagger out, pointing it at his brother's throat. "Or 'tis the plank for thee."

"I would much rather become a member in your crew, my brother." Mycroft said, extending a diplomatic hand for Sherlock to take. "You and I, sailing the high seas. It will be an adventure." Mycroft looked at Sherlock, slicing into the younger's thoughts. "Our final quest before I go to university."

"Hmm." Sherlock gnawed on his bottom lip. "Okay." He stretched out a sticky hand to help guide Mycroft across the schoolbook stepping stones.

Mycroft often warmly reflects these times with his swashbuckling brother.

* * *

This was the first chapter in my new story, focusing on many different pairings within the Sherlock fandom. It's a collection of 221B ficlets, but I will most likely be writing about my favourite pairings and people, such as Johnlock, Mystrade, Molly/Dimmock and the young Holmes brothers family fluff.

Reviews are love :)


	2. I Wake Up In The Night

**Chapter Title:** "I Wake Up In The Night, Turn Around To Find That You're Not There. I Just Like To Watch You Sleep, I Lay By You, I Love To Feel You Near." – Belgium, Bowling For Soup.  
**Inspired By:** The Air Conditioner, by SeenaC.  
**Pairings: **John/Sherlock  
**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

It was like his skin was being pulled by white hot electrodes.

His head burnt with memories. Bitter and sweet – he saw Sherlock sweeping the bow of his violin across the taut strings. He heard the gunfire of Afghanistan, and saw the destruction. He saw Sherlock fall. Broken wings of a falling angel.

He felt the pure joy they had shared. Genuine delight at solving cases. At having a fridge free of fingers and thumbs, and other things that ooze. At being together. At their friendship. Some moments were so happy.

And they had shared a bed. Nothing more to it than just friends. Sherlock had soothed the nightmares. John had tamed the raging fire.

John woke with a jolt. His shoulder ached. Like the bullet from his dream had really pierced it again. No sound – save his heartbeat and ragged breath. No sound. No sooth of violins, no obnoxious detective rambling. Unadulterated silence. _Wasn't it hateful?_ Absolutely. John understood now why Sherlock had detested it so. He hated the silence. The sound of boredom.

John curled into a ball, feeling his heartbeat decelerate. He was alone. So alone.

John picked up his laptop and began to type a new blog post. Sherlock's side was freezing; the duvet bunched up around John. And John was typing, alone in the double bed.

* * *

This could be viewed as platonic or pre-slash, whichever you prefer. I tried to write it as just friendship. Why not review and let me know how you read it?

Reviews continue to be on the same level as love, and I remain _Sunshine Through The Storm_.


	3. A Canadian Wedding Could Be Devised

**Chapter Title:** "But A Seaside Wedding Could Be Devised, My Rumpled Bedding Legitimised" – By The Sea, Sweeney Todd

**Inspired By:** My Citizenship Coursework

**Pairings:** John/Sherlock

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

He had proposed over breakfast. Popped the question over bacon, eggs, tea and toast. And he had been so calm – John could be forgiven for thinking that he was joking.

"We should get married, John." In that thoughtful, pensive voice he sometimes adopted. "Would you do me the honour of being my husband?"

"We'd have to go to Canada if you want to be married."

"A Canadian wedding could be devised," Sherlock bit into his toast. "We could always elope."

"It would save the drama."

"We'd have to avoid Mycroft."

"Ah. Get married here and honeymoon in Canada?" John suggested.

"That's not a marriage."

"It's a hypothetical situation!" John exclaimed. Sherlock's smile disappeared. "Isn't it?"

Sherlock remained downcast.

John slithered off his seat, and smashed his mouth to the detective's. "You sappy git. Canada, then?"

"I really love you, John," Sherlock gazed his light, steel-blue eyes up at John. "Please don't leave me."

"Can I use the loo?" John asked.

Sherlock pulled a face, releasing his arm. "Go – be disgustingly human."

Upon his return, John captured Sherlock's long fingers. Sherlock watched him curiously. John kissed those wriggling digits in turn. On the third, he slipped a thin golden ring. "I love you." He whispered as their lips brushed together.

"I love you too," The smiling, newly-engaged, detective touched the metallic band.

* * *

These stories aren't being updated in a set order, more like whenever an idea hits me hard enough so that I find time to write it :) Leave a review to tell me how you thought it went.


	4. Nice Day For A White Wedding

**Chapter Title:** "It's A Nice Day For A White Wedding" White Wedding, Billy Idol

**Inspired By:** The Proposal, XxMildredxX

**Pairings:** John/Sherlock

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

It started off as an experiment – _will sharing John's bed help his nightmares? Let's find out_ – and it had quickly morphed into the two sharing kisses and having intimate moments. And then he realised that he was in love with his blogger.

He – the great Sherlock Holmes – was hopelessly in love with the good Doctor John Watson.

And then the pair had the idea of marriage. Or civil partnership, to be pedantic. But it had to be secret; if Mrs. Holmes found out, it would become an elaborate, lavish and wholly unnecessary extravaganza. Yikes.

A lot of thought went into selecting witnesses. They needed someone they could trust to keep schtum, and who would be happy to witness them exchange vows.

_If we didn't need witnesses_, thought Sherlock, _I'd carry him to the registry office this second…_

Lestrade was John's suggestion. He had respect for them; he wouldn't tell anyone in the force out of spite. Sherlock had nobody else to ask besides Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Molly or the skull. All were crossed off the list – even Jesse, whom was never on the aforementioned list seriously.

In the end they were witnessed by Lestrade and one of John's old army buddies called Lavi. He'd quit to fight demons, he said.

Despite the drama, they were united – the detective and his blogger.

* * *

The second witness is Lavi, from D-Grayman. I was talking to my friend at the time, and she recently bought a Lavi plushie from the internet. He makes a nice cameo in this :)

Reviews are love!


	5. Just Got A Brand New Car

**Chapter Title:** "Just Got A Brand New Car… Looks Like A Jaguar" – Buck Rogers, Feeder

**Inspired By:** Mark Gatiss' Commentary on A Scandal In Belgravia

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Lestrade pre-slash

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

It was the first time he'd been in a Jaguar. But many strange things were happening to DI Gregory Lestrade that week.

He'd met a drug addict with the brain of a genius – much cleverer than his team combined – and decided to help the poor bastard get clean with the promise of more mysteries and tricky cases.

And the guy had taken him up on his offer. Promised to get clean; tempted by puzzles. Funny name too, _unique_, Greg complimented. Sherlock Louis Holmes. Written in handwriting like copperplate. Greg didn't know many junkies who knew calligraphy.

And now he was in a Jaguar travelling to an undisclosed destination. His companion, a gorgeous woman named Aimee, wasn't talkative and had sloughed Greg's attempts to flirt.

"Here we are, sir, madam."

They had stopped inside a multi-storey car park. Greg climbed out of the car apprehensively. Stood in the shadows, a man was leaning on his umbrella.

"Evening." Greg called politely.

"Good evening, Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"How…?"

"What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

"Excuse me?" Greg wasn't used to being interrogated. "Nothing, I guess. He's a junkie I tried to get clean."

"Yet you saved him from arrest. How tender-hearted."

"Who the Hell are you?" Lestrade snapped.

The man strode forward and shook Greg's hand warmly. "Thank you for saving my brother."

* * *

This chapter is rated T from the use of mild profanity :)

Reviews are love!


	6. You Were Born To Be My Baby

**Chapter Title:** "You Were Born To Be My Baby," – Born To Be My Baby, Bon Jovi

**Inspired By:** A Fit of Pique: Vexation, Umbrage, and Discontent, Atlin Merrick

**Pairings:** John/Sherlock established

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Miss Charlotte Jane Watson will be a charming young lady," Sherlock curled around Emily's waist protectively. "She will be clever, remarkable and brilliant."

"Watson is a run-of-the-mill name. Why not Charlotte Holmes?" John sat back in his armchair. "Are you sure you're okay with him being that close, Emily?"

"He's bonding. It's good for parents to bond with their babies _in utero_." Emily smiled. "It's your baby; I'm just transport."

"Charlotte Holmes sounds like my overweight great aunt. Charlotte Watson sounds beautiful." Sherlock buried his nose in Emily's navel. "¿Qué piensas, Lottie?"

"Why Charlotte?" Emily asked curiously.

"When we found out we were having a girl, Sally called Sherlock over to congratulate us, and Greg thought that she called him Charlotte." John smiled at the memory. "And then Sherlock said that she needed my name too, hence Charlotte Jane."

Sherlock pulled his face away from the belly button he'd been cuddling intensely. "Emily, may I please have your placenta when you're finished with it?"

"Um…"

"NO!" John said loudly. "If you want some disgusting squishy things to play with, ask Molly. Now say thank you to Emily and leave her stomach alone."

"Okay John," Sherlock slithered to the opposite end of the sofa. "Thank you Emily."

"No worries Sherlock. Same time next week?"

"Unless there's a case." Sherlock and John beamed.

* * *

This displays two parts of my headcanon. One, that Sherlock and John would give their children traditional names and two, that Sherlock speaks fluent Spanish amongst other languages.

**Qué piensas? = What do you think?**


	7. Mycroft Called The Doctor

**Chapter Title:** "Mummy Called The Doctor, And The Doctor Said, 'No More Monkeys Jumping On The Bed!'" – Five Little Monkeys Jumping On The Bed

**Inspired By:** Young Sick Sherlock, Roxanna123

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Sherlock family fluff

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Mycroft," A child's voice rasped. "Mycroft!"

"Sherlock, I cannot cater to your every whim!" Mycroft hunched further over his textbook. "I must study."

The door opened; a sliver of moonlight from the grand windows shone in. Silhouetted against the light, Sherlock's mussed curls and spindly joints folded in on each other as the younger coughed himself hoarse. "Mycroft, I don't feel well."

"You don't look well either." Sherlock stepped forward to press his clammy forehead to Mycroft's palm. Mycroft frowned. "Wait here."

Sherlock stood patiently. The thin fabric of his pyjamas stuck to him with a layer of sweat. "Mycroft, it hurts to talk."

"Then don't talk," Mycroft slid a thermometer between Sherlock's dry lips. "Not bad," He checked the reading and offered his brother a reassuring smile.

"My, I'm hot."

"Take off your pyjamas then," Mycroft sighed. "I'll get you some medicine."

"But then I'll be naked."

"I've seen you naked before, Sherlock. I was there when you were born."

"I was born fully clothed."

"No you weren't."

Mycroft returned minutes later to find Sherlock curled up under the table shivering.

"Mycroft, I'm going to vomit."

"Take this," Mycroft gave him a chewy tablet. "It'll make it better."

The scientific portion of Sherlock's mind came back online. "How?"

"Because I said so." Mycroft said, turning the page of his book.

* * *

I'm not sure what bug Sherlock's supposed to have caught, so I have no idea if this is accurate or not. I just wrote.

Reviews are Love, and I remain _Sunshine Through The Storm_.


	8. This City, So Pretty

**Chapter Title:** "This City, So Pretty Under Moonlit Skies, We'll Be Hanging Like A Cigarette" – Hello, Brooklyn, All Time Low.

**Inspired By: **Sherlock: Until Next Time, IBegToDreamAndDiffer

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Lestrade

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

The sunshine filtered through the gossamer curtains to shine on Greg as he slept. The DI rolled onto his back and opened his bleary eyes.

"Good morning," Mycroft greeted cheerfully. "I made breakfast."

"Go away. M'sleeping." Greg whined, pulling the duvet over his head.

Mycroft crawled onto the bed. "I made pancakes. Let me share them with my fiancé."

Greg resurfaced rapidly. He stared at his hand. "Bloody Hell."

Memories of last night came surging back.

_They are standing on their balcony, celebrating their anniversary. "Greg."_

"_Mm?" The police officer looks up with warm brown eyes full of love. His lips are red from kissing, but Mycroft appreciates their beauty._

_The wonderful politician's hand dips into his waistcoat pocket. "I love you."_

_The small container exchanges hands. Lestrade feels the soft velvet of the box. "What is this?" He brings it to his eye level, opening it. "Oh, Mycroft! Yes, yes, a thousand times yes." He kisses Mycroft passionately. "I love you too."_

"_Put it on." Mycroft says with shining eyes. Greg indulges him._

"_Isn't it beautiful?" The corners of Greg's mouth twitch with smiling._

"_Beauty is a comparison." Mycroft says, draping an arm around his fiancé. "You're the most beautiful in this city."_

_Greg kisses him again. "Sappy git." He presses into Mycroft's body, admiring the moonlit beauty of Brooklyn._

* * *

The format of this one is a little weird, for which I apologise. It's one of my favourites though. Is it cheesy to say that about one of my own stories?

Reviews are Love :)


	9. One Last Beer

**Chapter Title:** "You Can Always Count On Me For One Last Beer" – Friends O' Mine, Bowling For Soup

**Inspired By:** Sherlock: Colours and Sherlock: Impact by IBegToDreamAndDiffer

**Pairings:** John/Sherlock (mentioned), John/Lestrade friendship

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Don't wait up!" John felt so content that he practically bounced down the stairs. He was having a night from Sherlock, as their agreement stood, and had decided to accompany Lestrade to the pub.

Sherlock stood at the top of the stairs frowning like a petulant child; his ratty dressing gown swished when he stormed back upstairs. He loved John, thus honoured the agreement, but it didn't mean he had to like it.

John hummed a melody as he strode to the old inn door. Greg stamped out his cigarette as John approached.

"Those things kill y'know."

"Shut up. How's life?"

"Sherlock wants to start an eel farm in our bath."

"Anywhere else is plain ridiculous." Greg snorted.

"Don't encourage him." John said darkly.

"Lighten up," Greg headed straight to the bar. "This is the first Friday night I've had off in ages."

"Two beers, please, mate," John ordered from the thin barman. They were placed in front of the doctor and the DI as money exchanged hands.

"First round then, Johnny?" Greg teased as they walked into the cool breeze outside.

John grinned, "Only because I'm ordering something ridiculously expensive next."

"Figures." Greg shrugged and drank his lager. "What d'you wanna discuss first?"

Although neither will admit it, both Greg and John look forward to their weekly beer and bitch.

* * *

If you like some of the stuff I write, or not, I highly recommend reading the stories that inspired me to write some of these. The Colours series by IBegToDreamAndDiffer starts with Sherlock: Red On White, and the impact series starts with Sherlock: Cups On Couches. They are really good, and I can't recommend them enough.

Reviews are Love.


	10. Everybody Wants To Be A Cat

**Chapter Title:** "Everybody Wants To Be A Cat, 'Cause A Cat's The Only Cat Who Knows Where It's At" Everybody Wants To Be A Cat, Disney  
**Inspired By:** The Aristocats  
**Pairings:** N/A  
**Word Count:** 221 (Excluding Headers And Footnotes)

* * *

They were like tiny balls of fluff. He could spend hours playing with them in the pet shop – if he didn't have a world to destroy. They were adorable, and were the best cure for boredom, save for explosives. He loved their bright colours; the brilliant orange of ginger tabbies, to the multihued kaleidoscope of calicos. He couldn't help it. He just loved cats.

If he didn't have such a demanding job, he often thought that he would buy a cat. A cat is more independent, and displays a higher level of sophistication. You would never see a homeless person with a cat, unless it was a stray and there was food on offer. A man with a feline companion appeared more intellectual, and that was exactly how he saw himself.

Additionally, cats were natural predators – clever hunters who liked to play games with their prey. _Like me_, he thought to himself. Nobody ever suspected the pint-sized man in the designer suit. He was the most dangerous man in the world, and completely untraceable.

The kitten he'd been stroking climbed up his arm in a bid for freedom. "No, you don't!" He pulled the cat away and placed him back in the cage. "I'd get you. You're the smart one." He cooed.

Jim Moriarty was most definitely a cat lover. Brilliant.

* * *

In my personal headcanon, Moriarty actually likes cats. Hates the human race and the world, but loves the fluffy kittens :) Moriarty logic!

Reviews Are Love (::)


	11. Only Young, Running Wild

**Chapter Title:** "We're Only Young, Running Wild" – Only Young, Bowling For Soup

**Inspired By:** You're Better Than Broadway, sparly503

**Pairings: **Molly/Dimmock

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

She looked very sweet. She held a chubby, fluffy cat, and a beautiful smile was glanced coyly in his direction. Eugene felt his jaw drop. Her left hand hovered over a large cage. The soft pink hem of her floral dress swirled around her knees as she bent to the cat basket. The cat clawed to get away from the carrier.

"Oh!" The girl fell to the floor. A long scratch was raised on her right arm, and some small ones were beginning to bleed on her hands.

Eugene dashed her aid, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, thank you." She brushed herself down. "Did you see where Smokey went?"

"Smokey?"

"My cat."

"Oh. No, sorry. But I'll help you look."

"Thank you." She blushed, biting her lip. She seemed rather shy, but genuinely pleased and grateful for his help.

"Where does he usually go?" Eugene asked. He pulled out his notepad and pen to record everything. He wanted to join the police when he left school.

"Erm…" Her eyebrows furrowed as she thought. "I don't know!" She began to cry.

"Keep calm," Eugene put his arm around her consolingly. "My name's Eugene Dimmock. I'll help you find your cat. I want to be a police officer."

The girl dried her eyes. "Molly Hooper. I want to do something in human biology."

* * *

I think Molly and Dimmock make a cute couple, but there are very little people who also believe in Molly/Dimmock. And I have named Dimmock Eugene, for reasons that I once knew, but now don't.

Reviews are love :)


	12. Raindrops On Roses

**Chapter Title:** "Raindrops On Roses And Whiskers On Kittens, Bright Copper Kettles And Warm Woollen Mittens" – Favourite Things, The Sound Of Music.

**Inspired By:** Taking My Cat To The Vet

**Pairings:** Molly/Dimmock

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

The girl with pink dress with the criss-cross pattern of tartan, and the side parting was watching him. She looked young and lovely. Eugene Dimmock felt that she was familiar, but could not place her. She dressed beautifully for a casual outfit, and carried a chubby tomcat with more hair than an eighties band. Her smile in his direction strengthened Dimmock's suspicions about their acquaintance.

"Next?" The receptionist summoned Eugene from his thoughts.

"Eugene Dimmock, I've got an appointment for a routine check-up."

"With Gizmo?" The receptionist asked. "Take a seat; I'm sure it won't be too long."

"Thank you," Eugene said politely. He turned, eyes darting for the mysterious yet familiar lady. She had an empty chair beside her, so the DI took it.

She turned to him with another smile, "Hi." Her smile was rapidly climbing Dimmock's list of favourite things.

"Hello." His chest tightened nervously. "What's wrong with your cat?" _That was lame_, he internally winced.

She reddened. "Toby's getting neutered; he isn't happy about it."

"Can you blame him? Gizmo here's getting his nails clipped." He balanced the cage on his lap, looking at the rabbit inside. "My name's Eugene. I work at Scotland Yard."

"That's cool," said she. "I'm Molly. I'm a pathologist at Bart's."

"Can I get you a drink sometime?"

"Why not?" Molly blushed.

* * *

I don't know why Dimmock has a rabbit, it just seemed to fit. As for Gizmo, I just think he would really like the movie Gremlins.

Reviews are love :)


	13. On My Mind

**Chapter Title:** "And When I Die, You'll Be On My Mind, And I'll Love You. Always." Always, Bon Jovi

**Inspired By:** "Molly Hooper DOES Count", Rule 10, The Rules Of The Fandom, Tumblr

**Pairings:** Molly/Sherlock

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"You always counted, Molly." Sherlock whispered to her in the dark. "Before Lestrade, before my brother, even before John; you were always the one who counted."

"Why didn't you show it?" Molly asked. "You were so horrible. All the time."

Sherlock didn't answer for a while. "I am truly sorry. Before you, I had no-one to care for. I couldn't put my feelings into words. And then along came John."

"John?" Molly sounded more harsh and bitter than she'd intended.

"He helped me understand emotion. But when I was ready to confess my feelings for you, you had moved on."

Molly looked horrified. Sherlock continued to speak. "So I deduced your boyfriends, your actions, your words. I tore them apart in my mind. Thus I surrendered to the power of jealousy. A power I never wish to relive."

"Let me change that!" Molly cried. Her lips pressed together as the words left her mouth.

Sherlock laughed humourlessly. "It's too late, Molly. It's too late. I confessed my love to the only one who counted, and now I have to die. Life isn't fair. My brother was right. Caring is not an advantage."

Molly kissed the detective. "There's always something. Let me help."

"It was only ever you, Molly. You were the only one to ever count." And he kissed her back.

* * *

I wrote myself a list of pairings, and now I'm trying to write something for all of them. It's going to take a while, I know, and I will keep going back to my pet pairings because I like writing about them the most. But every once in a while it's good to stretch your creative wings and write something different.

Reviews Are Love :)


	14. Troubles With Control

**Chapter Title:** "Princess in a school girl's dream, may I please speak with you? I'm having troubles with control, and it's all because of you." The Judge's Daughter, Green Day  
**Inspired By:** Sherlock: Songs, IBegToDreamAndDiffer  
**Pairings:** John/Mycroft  
**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Mycroft twirled his umbrella between his thumb and forefinger. Lately, his mind was clouded with thoughts. Thoughts of a man who was off-limits.

Firstly, the man was someone whom Mycroft had – until quite recently - perceived to be heterosexual, but at Mummy's Christmas party Sherlock and John had become rather intimate during the cocktail hour, even introducing each other as "my wife".

He knew they were tipsy, but Mycroft couldn't forget their words. John was Sherlock's only friend. Mycroft couldn't take his brother's friend and leave the detective to be alone. Not even to heal his aching heart.

Likewise, Mycroft was pampered, and had been taught to appreciate the better things in life from a young age, educated at the finest schools in the country surrounded by heads of state. John had come from a working-class family, where he'd attended a comprehensive school and studied by candlelight to be a doctor - listening to his parents fight and watching his sister drink herself into apathy.

The door opened. The man stepped out. "Hello."

"Good afternoon, Doctor Watson. I trust you are well?"

"Never better, bar the toenails."

"Sherlock is a character. Is he in?"

"He's upstairs abusing his violin." John walked away, hands in his pockets against vicious winds. Mycroft sighed. He hoped Sherlock appreciated how much his heart was breaking.

* * *

I didn't like the way this one went. Their conversation was too short and was a bit patchy for my liking. What do you think?

Reviews are love :)


	15. Come Fly With Me

**Chapter Title:** "Come Fly With Me, Let's Fly, Let's Fly Away" Come Fly With Me, Michael Buble.

**Inspired By: **"I've Always Wanted To Be A Pilot, Ever Since I Was Six" "And Before That?" "I Wanted To Be An Aeroplane!" Martin Crieff And Douglas Richardson, Fitton, Cabin Pressure.

**Pairings: **Mycroft and Sherlock family fluff

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Nnym…" Sherlock tore around the room with his arms spread-out. He approached Mycroft with a loud "NYEEEROOOOM!"

"My dear brother, what on Earth are you doing?"

Sherlock fixed his brother with a stare. He spoke in a bored voice. "Well, Mycroft, I'm attempting to take off."

"Why?"

"Because I'm an aeroplane!" Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. "Isn't it obvious?"

Mycroft exhaled loudly. On occasion, it was best to simply humour Sherlock. He shut his book, and pressed his long fingers together in thought. "Why aren't you taking off? Are you experiencing mechanical difficulties?"

Sherlock stopped jumping. He deliberated for a moment. "No. My wings are fully functioning, and I have no engine problems. See?" The younger held out his arms, keeping them level and still.

"It must be something else, then." Mycroft stepped closer, inspecting his brother's arms. "Do you have fuel?"

"Fuel?" Sherlock repeated foolishly. "What fuel do planes have, My?"

Mycroft smiled, "Wait here. I shall fetch you a nice drink of fuel." He whisked into the kitchen, and poured cola into a glass. He also popped a straw into the glass to act as a pipeline.

Sherlock balanced the tumbler on the table, and sucked through the straw. "Refuelled now. Prepare for take-off."

"Bon voyage, brother, bon voyage," Mycroft smiled. "Where are you going?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Bordeaux?"

* * *

Another piece of my headcanon stretched into a somewhat odd story. There is a family house belonging to the Holmeses, somewhere in a little village on the outskirts of Bordeaux. In my head, when Sherlock grows up it passes into his name from their grandfather.

Reviews are Love :)


	16. Somebody Get My Mum

**Chapter Title:** "Somebody Get My Mom, 'Cause I Think Something's Broken Again" – Somebody Get My Mom, Bowling For Soup

**Inspired By:** Colly, CountryGrl

**Pairings:** N/A

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Sherlock sat cross-legged in the centre of the sunflower yellow nursery, a heavy book placed across his knees, balanced with his elbows. He either did not notice his nanny enter, or he had ignored her.

"Sherlock, dear, it's time for your bath. You start lessons again in the morning."

Sherlock languidly turned a page. "I don't need a bath."

Miss Collins smiled. "Yes you do, Sherlock. Up you get." She loved him dearly; she had essentially raised him on the behalf of Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. In his mind, Miss Collins was his mother, but he could never say that. It would only upset Mummy. Colly lavished him with attention. She gave him cuddles and kisses, and on occasion would make him fancy dress outfits to play with. Sherlock particularly loved his pirate outfit, with its large feathered hat and blue coat.

Mummy and Father would see Sherlock for a few moments each night before he was sent up to bed. With the exception of their summers in Bordeaux, Sherlock passed every day with Colly.

He feared the day that he would start school. Once he began school, Miss Collins would have no place in the Holmes Manor, and would thus be dismissed. Sherlock felt saddened. He should not waste his time with Colly.

"I think I shall have a bath."

* * *

_Colly_ is one of my absolute favourite pieces of fanfiction. It's on this site, so there is no reason not to read it.

Reviews Are Love :)


	17. If You Should Fall

**Chapter Title:** "If You Should Fall, You Know I'll Be There. To Catch And Call, You Know I'll Be There." Poprocks And Coke, Green Day.  
**Inspired By:** Sherlock: Songs, IBegToDreamAndDiffer  
**Pairings:** Mycroft/Sherlock family fluff  
**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" Mycroft looked between the branches at his brother.

"Birdwatching," was the short reply.

"In the rain?" Mycroft jostled his umbrella to keep the rain off his clean hair. "Oh, Sherlock! You've ruined your clothes!" He worried about Mummy's reaction to Sherlock's muddy and ripped trousers. "Get down this instant!"

"No."

"Don't be obtuse, Sherlock."

"No."

Mycroft hated being the one responsible for Sherlock. He had held the position since Sherlock's nanny had left.

"Sherlock, I shall count to three. If you don't come down, I shall not read to you tonight."

"But Mycroft!" Sherlock whined. "Tonight is when Gertrude visits the Conjuror!"

"Well, you must come down to hear it, then. One…"

"Wait!"

Mycroft raised his brow. "I'm waiting."

"M'stuck."

"You're stuck?" Mycroft placed a hand on his hip. "In which way are you stuck?"

Sherlock bit his lip, "I'm scared."

"Well, Sherlock," Mycroft sighed. "I suppose you'll have to stay out here all night."

"Mycroft, help me!"

Mycroft looked at Sherlock's frightened expression. He only saw one way to get Sherlock out of the tree. "Jump."

"Jump?"

"Yes; jump. I'll catch you." Mycroft opened his arms. "Trust me."

"Okay... Here I come!" Sherlock closed his eyes, launching himself off the branch.

"Oof!" Mycroft was flattened into the mud.

"Now will you read me the book?"

* * *

If anyone's interested, the book Mycroft is apparently reading to Sherlock is _The Withered Arm_ from Thomas Hardy's _Wessex Tales_. I think Mycroft would like it for the Classical Literature aspect, and Sherlock for the mystery. It's pretty good, I recommend it.

Reviews are Love :)


	18. No More Laughter

**Chapter Title:** "Laughter, There Is No More Laughter… Songs Of Yesterday Now Live, In The Underground…" – Before The Lobotomy, Green Day.

**Inspired By:** Sherlock, John, Love, Family, by Marker Sniffing Productions

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Sherlock family fluff

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Mycroft closed the newspaper with a heavy heart. Sherlock looked up at him from the front page. His little brother, the person he had promised to take care of, was dead. Mycroft Holmes had inadvertently killed his own brother, over something that didn't even exist.

He knew that caring was not an advantage, but the emptiness in Mycroft's chest reminded him that he cared, in spite of his words. As was the realisation that he would never earn Sherlock's forgiveness.

Their feud had ended, but the cost was higher than the politician could have imagined. They would never have been a close family, but they both would have benefited from neutrality between them. And perhaps Sherlock would never have turned to drugs. Mycroft had always been sure that if they had been a closer family, then he could have protected Sherlock from the siren call of the Class A drugs.

Life was better when they were young. Mycroft could speak to his brother in rapid French, and Sherlock would understand and reply accordingly.

_"Je t'aime, mon frère."_

_"Je t'aime aussi, Mycroft."_

They were very talented, the Holmes boys. There was laughter in the house. But now there was no more laughter. Sherlock, and his talents, were no more. Mycroft began to mourn his little brother, his hand supporting his patrician brow.


	19. Scales And Arpeggios

**Chapter Title:** "Every Truly Cultured Music Student Knows, You Must Learn Your Scales And Your Arpeggios" Scales And Arpeggios – Disney, The Aristocats.  
**Inspired By:** My friend playing the piano  
**Pairings:** Sherlock/Mycroft Family Fluff  
**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Mycroft sat the piano, and gestured the keys with long fingers. For Mummy's birthday, he and Sherlock had agreed to play a duet. Sherlock had not played the pianoforte in a year, and so was very sluggish in his playing.

"Okay, why don't you play some scales and arpeggios to begin?" The elder ghosted over the younger's hands. "Play E minor."

Sherlock tapped away at the keys. He failed the simple chord twice, before slamming the piano lid irascibly. "This is stupid."

"Sherlock, you have to keep trying," Mycroft said, lifting the wooden lid gently. "Rome wasn't built in a day."

"Why do we have to play the piano? Can't I play my violin?"

Mycroft looked at his little brother, who was glaring at the piano with crossed limbs. It wasn't worth the fight. "Fine," he sighed, "Go get it, and we'll work something out."

Sherlock slipped off the stool happily. He adored his violin. Where the piano was big and bulky, the violin was small and curved, meaning that Sherlock could take it with him like a security blanket. Mycroft was sure that Mummy would prefer that Sherlock had his violin. It would be more natural if he did.

The younger skittered through the door with the maple instrument. "I know what to play, Mycroft! We can play Happy Birthday!"

* * *

Reviews Are Love :)


	20. Hear About My Story

**Chapter Title:** "I Thought I'd Write To You Just To Let You Hear About My Story…" – Running Around In Circles, The Fight

**Inspired By:** "Oh No, I Ensured It" Sherlock Holmes, A Study In Pink

**Pairings:** Mrs. Hudson/Mr. Hudson

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Was it wrong to be relieved about your husband's death? She still visited him every day, and he raged on and on about her avenging his death. He ordered her to find and destroy the person that had informed the police. And to kill the detective who had put the final nail in his coffin.

And although he was still being dominant and demanding, Martha felt free from him. He was safely locked away where he couldn't hurt anyone ever again. Thanks to Sherlock, he would be judged in Heaven for his crimes against humanity. _The divine punishment is more than anything we have on Earth_, is how she justified the death penalty. And he was guilty as sin.

And once she had seen to the end of her vows, until death do we part, Martha could return to her home country with the crisp country air, and the rain. She never thought she'd miss the rain. Surprisingly, not many British people believe they would ever miss the drumming of April showers on the roof.

Now Martha could feel the rain on her face without worrying about what her husband would think or do to her. She could return to her sewing, or open a bakery.

Martha Hudson smiled, daydreaming of a new start and a new life in Great Britain.

* * *

I know, there must be dozens of stories about Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson after he secures her husband's death, but I think they're interesting. The mind of a fanfiction writer is complex and deep, so there are many different versions of the same thing. I love that.

I would just like to thank all the reviews I have, as well as all the favourites and subscriptions. You guys give me lots of hope.

Reviews Are Love :)


	21. Maths Is A Wonderful Thing

**Chapter Title:** "Math is a wonderful thing; Math is a really cool thing…" - The Math Song Lyrics, Jack Black and The School of Rock

**Inspired By: **My English Teacher

**Pairings:** N/A

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

There was something so pure about maths in Molly Hooper's opinion. Very few people could create beauty in numbers. Anybody could use words to create beauty. Words could be used to hurt people, or to disguise the true meaning of someone else's message. Words could be used to mean a multitude of things. With numbers you were either right or wrong.

Molly Hooper liked English at school; her teacher Miss Wynn was kind and encouraging, but her heartbeat throbbed with earnest for Mathematics and the sciences. The true sciences were Molly's best friends. Biology, Chemistry, Maths and Physics were the paths toward unravelling the universe's mysteries.

_The bell rings dissonantly, denoting the start of lunch. Molly marks her final answer, and closes her maths book. All around her, other girls are rushing towards the door. Mr. Anglenight's classroom is one of the closest to the canteen. If you don't get there fast, you might not eat due to the length of the queue in comparison to the food available._

_Molly doesn't care much for the canteen food. It's expensive and stale. She slowly places her books into her Hello Kitty backpack, rereading the chalkboard. The maths of a pattern is something quite remarkable._

Doctor Hooper smiled to herself, making a note about the tattoo on the left arm of the body.


	22. Our Lives On Holiday

**Chapter Title:** "This Is Our Lives On Holiday", Holiday, Green Day

**Inspired By:** Reichenbach Falls

**Pairings:** Sherlock/John friendship

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

The house was stifling. Every wall oozed with the memories of his friend, so the good doctor prescribed himself a holiday. Nothing too far away - he was only on an army pension. The only reason that he could still afford the rent on the flat was because Mrs. Hudson took pity.

That would have to stop soon. She couldn't afford to rent out 221b for basically nothing. John was struggling to keep up payments in spite of the reduced rate. Besides it would do him good to get out of the city, and away from Sherlock's particular favourite haunts.

He couldn't take the train down to Weston-Super-Mare because it reminded him of Sherlock, and the time they went to Dartmoor. He could still hear the ringing deductions about their fellow passengers. Travelling with Sherlock had been quite fun, John reflected. They should have done more of it together.

John sighed. He clicked the button of the webpage to buy the train tickets. He had to get the train; trains were one of the fastest modes of transport, especially out of London. He scratched his head thoughtfully, before getting up and making himself a cup of tea.

It was the good doctor's first holiday in a long time (the last being before Afghanistan) and it would be a very relaxing break.

* * *

Another 221b that I wrote out in response to another bout of the Reichenbach Blues.

Reviews are Love, and I remain _Sunshine Through The Storm_.


	23. Tea, It Solves Everything

**Chapter Title:** Tea, It Solves Everything

**Inspired By: **A story I had to study for English

**Pairings:** John/Mary

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

John walked east to west along the seafront, admiring the Britishness of the town. There were little kids building sandcastles, some older ones splashing in the sea, and there were even people dotted along the pier shovelling chips into their mouths. It was exactly as John remembered it from his childhood, running along the sand with Harry.

Miss Mary Morstan was walking along the seafront, west to east, looking for a place to buy a nice cup of tea to start her day. It was her first time in Somerset, and indeed the West Country, but she was enjoying her holiday. It was a fun place, with the seaside funfair and the childhood treats. She had already passed two shops on her walk that claimed to sell Smurf flavoured ice cream.

John was lost in his memories of Weston-Super-Mare, that he didn't notice the pretty lady coming towards him. He knocked into her, and the contents of his rapidly cooling tea spilt all over her.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry!" He apologised, "I should have been paying attention to where I was going."

"Don't worry, it's lucky you ran into me," Mary smiled. "I've been looking for a cuppa."

"There's a good place for it, a little down the road. I'll pay."

"That's kind of you," said Mary with a blush.

* * *

I haven't written something with Mary before, and I'm a huge Johnlocker so I try to avoid stories where she features, but we can't really expect John to be alone for three years, can we?

The story that inspired this piece, if anyone is interested, is called On Seeing The 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning, and it was written by Haruki Murakami.

Reviews Are Love :)


	24. Being Away

**Chapter Title:** "I love you, and I have loved you all along. And I forgive you, for being away for far too long." Far Away, Nickelback.

**Inspired By:** The Reichenbach Fall

**Pairings:** John/Sherlock

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

It started with the knock at the door. John had just put on the kettle for his evening cuppa, dressed in his hideous pea green dressing gown and ratty pyjama trousers, and was in the process of settling in for the night.

The good doctor had assumed it was one of his patients, and deliberated over opening the door. The words of the Hippocratic Oath nagged at the back of his head, and he had opened the door with an irked expression. "Yes?"

"Good evening," The man with the bespoke black suit was incredibly polite. "Doctor Watson?"

"Doctor John Watson, yes, hello," John's tea levels were depleting rapidly, which was guaranteed to make him irritable. "Can I help you?"

"Mr. Holmes requests that you look after something for him, sir."

John folded his arms, "No. Tell Mycroft that I'm out of it. I don't have to do anything for him anymore."

The beefy man frowned at John. "He anticipated that you would say no, sir. He won't take no for an answer, sir."

"Fine," John's eyebrows knitted together in annoyance. "What is this package?"

A skeletal figure stepped from behind the dark-skinned bodyguard. His hair was a tangle of black wire, and he was even skinnier than John remembered. "Hello, John."

"Is it really you?"

"In the flesh," rumbled the baritone.

* * *

I often wonder what it would be like when Sherlock returned from the dead. So I put on some music, sat down with my notebook and a pencil, and let the words flow. Then I tore the page out, went to make a cup of tea and the idea came to me. Funny old world, that.

Reviews are very much love :) They brighten my day in ways undescribable.


	25. Kiss The Demons

**Chapter Title:** "Kiss the demons out of my dreams." – Give Me Novocaine, Green Day  
**Inspired By: **Come What May, IBegToDreamAndDiffer  
**Pairings:** Holmescest  
**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Sherlock's limbs were a flurry under the sheets as the shaggy haired teen had another nightmare. His hands pounded against the downy ceiling of his mausoleum, his voice hoarsely yelling for his brother. "Mycroft! Mycroft!"

The redhead, having been startled from sleep, tugged the duvet away and released the younger. Sherlock breathed frantically, edging gradually closer to a panic attack. "It was so real, My! They were pulling me, and cutting me, and…"

Mycroft stroked his shoulder soothingly. "Everything is okay, brother. With me, you are safe."

"I was so scared," Sherlock pressed his face into Mycroft's collarbone. The elder responded by tracing light circles on the nape of his brother's neck. He fiddled with Sherlock's bristly curls, and made mini plaits in his hair.

"Do not worry, my brother," Mycroft comforted. He rocked his lanky brother gently and murmured the bars of Brahms's lullaby. Once he was pacified, and began to drift back to sleep, Mycroft laid his brother back in their bed. The pale expanse of Sherlock's body rested back on the ocean blue sheets, and his glistening blue eyes blinked up sleepily.

"I love you, Mycroft," Sherlock yawned, folding in on himself under the beige eiderdown. "Thank you."

"I love you too. Go to sleep now," Mycroft softly kissed Sherlock's parted bow-shaped lips. "Go to sleep, my beautiful."

* * *

I wanted to write some Holmescest. Other than that, this chapter has nothing else that I can explain.

Reviews Are Love.


	26. I Don't Wish

**Chapter Title:** "It's A Funny Thing, But Now That You're Gone, I Don't Wish You Were Dead Anymore" – I Don't Wish You Were Dead Anymore, Bowling For Soup.

**Inspired By: **#IBelieveInSherlockHolmes Campaign

**Pairings:** Sherlock/Moriarty

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

In a café on the corner of Victoria Street sat a man in a fine suit, sipping a scalding teacup as he watched the world go by. It was a world that he had recently owned, the world that he had run using a system of seedy thieves and crooks.

He watched the world run along, with the silly little people continuing their average, boring lives. So dull, so predictable. He'd killed the last person that had been slightly interesting. In the end, though, Sherlock had been just like the others. Dull, boring, predictable. They were all the same.

Jim Moriarty twirled a pen between his fingers. Now he was Richard Brook, a seemingly normal man, whose desperation for work had destroyed his life. He regretted killing Sherlock now, as it was much more fun to play games with explosives than sleepily answer crosswords on the Tube.

Dull, boring, predictable. It was the average fare for a Londoner. Brook also had a part time job as a barman, which he worked between acting jobs, in an Irish pub. Although the patrons were interesting, they were not as fun as tormenting Sherlock Holmes.

Jim sighed, tapping his pen on his knee. From the corner of his eye, he watched a banner being raised.

_SHERLOCK HOLMES WAS REAL. THE FRAUD WAS RICHARD BROOK._

* * *

Just a little thing that came to my head whilst I was helping my sister make posters.

Enjoy :)


	27. Full Of Lies

**Chapter Title:** "And right now they're building a coffin your size, Mama, we're all full of lies." Mama, My Chemical Romance

**Inspired By:** The Swinging Snitch, SeenaC

**Pairings:** N/A

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

It was the first formal event Sherlock had attended without his mother, but even though she wouldn't attend with Sherlock, she would definitely be _in attendance_.

Is that even correct? The dictionary defines being in attendance as one being present at an event or gathering. The opposite of present is absent. His mother would be absent from the crowd, but they were all going for her sake.

His nanny, Miss Collins, combed his hair so that the curls laid flat and neat, slicked to the sides. He didn't like it. It felt wrong against his cheeks.

Colly stopped in front of him, bending down to look closely at his face. "There, don't you look smart?" She was wearing a black netted veil that only just covered her face. It was to show respect, she had told the boy. She was wearing her Sunday dress too.

"Thank you, Colly." The words were barely a whisper. Nothing would be the same again. Miss Collins was like a mother to him, but the thought that he would never have his _real_ mother again…

Sherlock sniffled, and wiped his eyes with his silk cuff. He _wouldn't_ cry. Mycroft and Father had drilled it into him that _boys don't cry_.

Holding onto Mycroft's clammy hand, Sherlock walked downstairs, into a heaving mass of people in black.

* * *

Reviews are love :)


	28. You Weren't There

**Chapter Title:** "You weren't there; you let me fall." So What, Pink

**Inspired By:** A review I received for 'A Pirate's Life For Me'

**Pairings:** Sherlock/Mycroft family

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Mycroft smiled as he stepped out of the taxi outside the family manor. He had been away at university for too long, and he had missed his brother chronically.

Sherlock would have grown by now. He wouldn't be as tall as Mycroft, but he would be taller than he was before. Puberty does that. It takes a boy and stretches him into a man.

The front door opened, the well-oiled hinges making no sounds of protest.

"Master Mycroft, what a pleasure to receive you home from university!" The head butler, Moffat, bowed deeply at the sight of the elder Holmes brother.

"Take my bags straight through, Moffat. I have gifts for my brother."

"Certainly, Master Mycroft."

Mycroft swirled into the room ahead of Moffat. "Hello, Sherlock."

"Go away."

"Is that any way to greet your brother?"

"Please go away."

Moffat cleared his throat, "Just here, Master Mycroft?"

"Yes, yes, there's fine," Mycroft flapped a hand at him. "You're dismissed. Sherlock, I bought you presents from Cambridge."

Sherlock glared at his brother. "Trying to buy back my affections? I thought you were beneath bribery, Mycroft." He sneered, cuddling his knees. "You lied, Mycroft. You weren't there when I needed you."

Mycroft felt the words blast through his heart. Sherlock was rejecting him? The elder Holmes forced a smile. "Enjoy your gifts, brother."

* * *

Written, as stated above, in response to a review I received for the first chapter. I hope she likes it, if you're reading :) Mycroft and Sherlock used to be so close before Mycroft went to uni, so I wrote about him coming home to find the Sherlock we all know so well.

This is the kind of stuff that reviews produce, and this is why they are valued so much.


	29. Under My Skin

**Chapter Title:** "I've Got You Under My Skin," I've Got You Under My Skin, Frank Sinatra

**Inspired By: **Cabin Pressure: What Douglas Feels, IBegToDreamAndDiffer

**Pairings: **Mycroft/Lestrade

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Ow!" Mycroft tripped over the wooden slat that divided the en-suite bathroom and the bedroom. He frowned, bending over to pick up his foot and peer closely at his toe. There was a fragment of the wood sticking out of his big toe.

He shuffled to the bed, hobbling on his heel to avoid pushing the splinter further under his skin. The politician picked up his foot, laying it across his lap. "Ouch!" Mycroft hissed as he tried to pluck out the splinter with his impeccably manicured fingernails. He gritted his teeth, and tried again. "Ow!"

Gregory Lestrade blinked sleepily, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "Hey, what's up?"

"I appear to have a splinter in my foot, Gregory, and I'm trying to remove it." Mycroft briefly smiled at his partner before bending back over his foot. Using his fingers to squeeze the skin on either side of the woodchip, Mycroft attempted to remove it again. "OW!"

"Come here," Greg smiled. He scooted down the bed to sit beside his boyfriend, and peered over the politician's injury.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping my idiot boyfriend with his splinter," Greg said, inspecting Mycroft's skin. "This'd be easier with tweezers." He pinched Mycroft's toe, and ripped the wood out. "Better?"

Mycroft turned his head to kiss his boyfriend. "Much better."

* * *

Reviews Are Love :)


	30. God, Are You Listening?

**Chapter Title:** "What Is The Distance Between A Bullet And A Gun? God, Are You Listening, Or Have You Just Given Up?" Bullet, Bon Jovi

**Inspired By:** Not Without You, thisisforyou

**Pairings: **John/Lestrade (one-sided), Lestrade/Molly, Sherlock/John friendship

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

John knew that Greg had been giving him the eye. The moment he had limped in behind Sherlock to that flat in Brixton to investigate the body of the pink lady, a case he had later titled _A Study In Pink_.

Since that day, Greg had been gazing at him repeatedly. But he was married, John reminded himself. Lestrade was absolutely forbidden. He had a wife and children at home. He was not John's to take.

And when Sherlock said those words at Christmas, John had felt his heart flutter. Greg's marriage was on the rocks. It was a nasty, vicious thing to be pleased about, the coming end of a friend's seventeen year marriage. But he also noticed Greg had changed his affections. Those eyes were no longer gawping at him, but instead looked at Molly Hooper.

John sat in his squashy armchair and frowned at Sherlock's empty seat that sat opposite. "Well, what do I do now? You're gone, Greg's going to ask Molly out, and I'll be on my own. Should I come join you?"

"John?" The door creaked open to produce the silver hair of DI Lestrade. "Your landlady let me in." He looked at John's hand, holding the gun. "Oh, John, no!"

"Hey, Greg," John continued sighing at Sherlock's chair. "Don't worry. Sherlock's confiscated my bullets."

* * *

This is a rather dark one, but the next few are going to be lighter and hopefully sweeter.

Reviews Are Love.


	31. Everything I Have

**Chapter Title:** "I am growing tired of allowing you to steal everything I have," Hate This & I'll Love You, Muse.

**Inspired By:** My sister's theory of how Mystrade got together

**Written For:** IBegToDreamAndDiffer

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Lestrade

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Gregory," Mycroft groaned, bending over the DI's desk. "I really must return to the office."

Greg smiled against Mycroft's lips, "No, you don't. The world can run without you for a little bit." The politician had just asked Greg to move in with him, and the result had been a make-out session in Greg's office.

"Gregory!"

"Fine. I'll see you tonight, then. In _our_ flat."

Mycroft licked his chapped lips. "Absolutely, _mon chèrie_." He moved into a standing position, and smoothed down his clothes. He leaned in for a gentler kiss when Sherlock burst into Lestrade's office.

"How _dare_ you?"

"Hello, John," Greg sighed. "Did he steal your phone again?"

"Sorry Greg," John came round to stand beside Lestrade. "I told him not to go through my messages."

Sherlock continued raging. "Of all the people in the world, you chose him? Really? So, where did you meet?"

"At your funeral," Greg mumbled, avoiding Sherlock's scowl.

"At my funeral? Great, Mycroft, just great."

"My dearest brother," Mycroft closed his eyes and sighed. "I believe you once told me that 'you can date any of my friends, over my dead body'."

Sherlock growled, storming out of the room. "Come along John!"

"I'd better…" John said. "Congratulations!"

"Cheers, John," Greg replied. He shut the door. "So, where were we?" he asked, kissing his beloved.

* * *

_This was written for _**IBegToDreamAndDiffer**_ as a birthday present (sorry it's a little bit late) because she wrote me some amazing pieces on my birthday. My suggestion is that everybody goes and reviews at least one of her stories to say "Happy birthday!" because she is legendary and Reviews Are Love._

_Sunshine :)_


	32. Nothing But Love

**Chapter Title:** "Ain't got nothing but love babe, eight days a week" Eight Days A Week, The Beatles

**Inspired By:** Watching _Love Actually_ (starring Martin Freeman) with my sister.

**Pairings:** Molly/Moriarty, one-sided Moran/Moriarty

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"What should we watch, Mol?" Jim crouched by the abysmal DVD collection and despaired. For the majority, Molly's collection was made up of chick flicks and Disney classics.

"How about _Atonement_?" Molly suggested, entering the living room from her poky kitchen. "I got us a blanket."

"What about _The Holiday_?" Jim asked, holding up the DVD. "I love that movie."

"Oh yes! Jude Law!" Molly hummed appreciatively and snuggled under the blanket.

"He is quite dishy," Jim agreed. He picked up Molly's small feet and laid them across his lap. "This is quite nice, isn't it?"

"Mm…" Molly smiled as Jim's expert hands rubbed and massaged her aching feet. The consulting criminal smiled back, and watched Molly close her eyes and sigh serenely.

They had an odd relationship, certainly. Jim would often come home with another triple homicide committed under his orders, and Molly would have three fresh victims on her autopsy table the following morning.

Molly was a nice girl, a good girl, and she loved cats almost as much as Jim.

Sebastian Moran despised her, but Jim just labelled him as jealous. He knew that Moran fantasised about him. He didn't care. It didn't affect Sebastian's work, thus was of little concern to Jim. Sebastian's envy was only causing himself misery.

Jim grinned, cuddling Molly under their shared blanket.

* * *

Molly and Moriarty have some weird relationship, but I quite like it! This is my first Molly/Moriarty (or Moliarty, if you prefer) story, and the first one to mention Sebastian Moran.

Reviews Are Love :)


	33. So Much I Need To Say

**Chapter Title:** "I'm so rushed off my feet, looking for Gordon Street. So much I need to say, I'm sorry that it's on her wedding day..." Crashed The Wedding, Busted

**Inspired By:** My cousin's wedding

**Pairings:** John/Mary, John/Sherlock, Mycroft/Lestrade (mentioned)

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Those curls were following him. He kept seeing them – at the windows, in Angelo's, even on the news! As the reporter stood outside a factory in Toulouse, a shock of curls swept past.

His overactive imagination was blamed, both by himself and Ella the therapist.

Seeing them in the church on his wedding day though, that was the last straw. Instead of seeing his bride walk towards him, all peaches and cream, John Watson found himself staring at an imaginary tangle of curls.

_Stop it!_ He berated himself. John forced his eyes away Mary's uncle. Uncle David wore a wig following chemotherapy, and he was uncomfortable with being bald. Instead, John looked towards Molly, whose finger gleamed in the light from the stain-glass window. Recent engagement, since that hadn't been there when he saw her last week. _Good for her._ He glanced at Lestrade. The copper's face betrayed no emotion, though he almost hadn't come after John refused Mycroft an invitation.

The band struck up. Mary was outside the door. Somebody behind Molly stood up; John saw it from the corner of his eye.

Sherlock caught his hands. "I'm sorry. I can't let you do this."

"Bit late for that, isn't it?" John asked. "You can't just crash my wedding."

"I'm sorry."

"I hate you."

"I hate me too," Sherlock breathed.

* * *

I am officially bored enough to start taking requests for pairings from people. So if you adore a pairing which I haven't written about yet, drop me a line!

Reviews are love :)


	34. With You Today

**Chapter Title:** "I'm taking this chance to say that I had the best day with you today." The Best Day, Taylor Swift.

**Inspired By:** Sherlock: Phones On Desks, IBegToDreamAndDiffer

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Lestrade

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Mycroft sat back in his seat as his PA fired text messages to various people. The politician was wrapped up in warm memories of his date with Gregory Lestrade. The DI was charming, witty, kind, thoughtful, curious, and a whole host of other attractive qualities and quirks. In a word, he was perfect.

But all good things must come to an end, and their date was finally terminated through a joint effort by a triple homicide and the Prime Minister himself. Mycroft didn't think they were related, but you never know.

He sighed, and leant his head against the window. Damn the Prime Minister. Can't he figure out his own problems? They arrived in Downing Street, and Mycroft was immediately whisked through security to address Mr. Cameron.

"Mr. Holmes, thank you ever so much for coming!" David Cameron said. "We're in a bit of a tight spot."

"I believe that I gave the instruction that I was not to be disturbed tonight?" Mycroft responded frostily. "You have just interrupted the best date that I have had in years!" He snatched the file, "This had better be important."

"A matter of national security, yes," The Prime Minister squeaked. "I'll get Mrs. Brown to make a pot of tea."

Mycroft looked at the paperwork. "Annabeth, call Marcos. Get me the situation in Brazil."

* * *

I'm convinced that there are other people, just like Mycroft who run the different countries as THE Governments. So, whilst bored and procrastinating with Politics work, I decided to name them for the G20 countries. They all have really stereotypical names though, for example, Marcos Álvares de Ornelas is _the_ Brazilian Government.

Reviews Are Love :)


	35. Life Goes On

**Chapter Title:** "My friend drove off the other day, now he's gone and all they say is 'You gotta live cause life goes on'." J.A.R (Jason Andrew Relva [From Angus]), Green Day

**Inspired By:** Not Without You, thisisforyou

**Pairings:** John/Sherlock (friendship or slash, your choice)

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

It was killing Molly to see John like that. He looked dead inside, with no motivation to get him through the day. She wanted to grab him, and tell him that Sherlock was still alive. Every time the sandy haired man appeared in the lab, he gazed at her blankly. He was like a robot.

Somebody had arranged for John to get a job at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. He was now teaching with Mike Stamford part-time, spending the rest of his time working in the pathology lab under Molly's watchful eye. Molly suspected that Sherlock had a hand in John's job; the last time they spoke she had mentioned the ex-army doctor's vacant stare.

"John, could you pass me that bottle of hydrochloric acid, please?"

The man in question looked at her, wordlessly passing the brown bottle. His rich blue eyes were glassy and unfocused. _Faraway eyes; like he'd been daydreaming_. Molly's fingers itched to reach out and pull John into a massive hug. _He's alive. I promise that everything's okay._

"Thanks," Molly dripped the acid into a Petri dish of mucus. She watched John's eyes slide out of focus again. _Soon, he'll be home soon!_

John partially smiled. Of the friends he'd ever had, he'd never have guessed that Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, would be the best.

* * *

I should probably point out that I have no idea what Molly's doing to the mucus. I just pick random chemicals or stuff that I know exist, and write them down. Hydrochloric acid and universal indicator are my go-to chemicals.

I'd quickly like to thank everyone for reviewing, subscribing and generally being supportive or interested in my random babbling in the 221b format. Reviews really are love.

Sunshine :)


	36. To Make A Living

**Chapter Title:** "Working 9 to 5, what a way to make a living. Barely getting by, it's all taking and no giving" 9 to 5, Dolly Parton

**Inspired By:** A Day In The Life Of Mycroft Holmes, IBegToDreamAndDiffer, and my Politics teacher.

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Lestrade (mentioned)

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Anthea Barry was good at her job. She was paid to keep her employer's schedule in check, arrange meetings, and to accompany him to numerous locations, such as the bank or Taiwan. She never listened into conversations between the businessmen or government officials. She was efficient when following orders. She was proficient in self-defence, and often came to her employer's rescue if and when he got in trouble.

On occasion, Anthea or whatever name she was using that day (she liked to mix it up) would fetch her boss food, locate his younger brother, book tables in five star restaurants, keep Mycroft's boyfriend updated on his health, and call the 'others', as her employer called them. He particularly enjoyed his chats with _The_ Italian Government, Mr. Deangelo Campagno.

"Your schedule has been cleared until tomorrow evening at eight, at which point you have a dinner reservation." Anthea glanced up briefly from her BlackBerry to smile at her boss. "And Gregory has also had his schedule cleared for the same time period."

"Thank you, Amy." Momentarily looking from documents stamped _Top Secret_, Mycroft smiled at his brilliant personal assistant. "What on Earth would I ever do without you?"

"Oh, I don't know, sir," Anthea smiled back. "Have a long tedious life, full of meetings and politicians?"

"Yes, of course," said the boss.

* * *

Thank you to everybody who has reviewed on this story, favourited, subscribed, anything. And a huge thank you to those who suggested pairings when I asked; they gave me some interesting challenges, and you'll be seeing those drabbles soon hopefully :)

Reviews are love.


	37. Find You Here

**Chapter Title:** "I just walked in to find you here, with that sad look upon your face", I Will Survive, Gloria Gaynor.

**Inspired By:** "I left her the skull in the laptop's place, she will figure it out," Sherlock Holmes, The Adventure of the Civil Partnership, Rairakku1234.

**Written For:** Rairakku1234

**Pairings:** John/Sherlock (mentioned)

Word Count: 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Martha Hudson entered the narrow hallway of 221 Baker Street, carrying several bags of shopping. She glanced upwards at the closed door leading into 221b, and smiled to herself. The famous "Baker Street boys" had recently married, and Martha was ecstatic. She was elated that the two had finally admitted what everyone else knew: _they loved each other_.

Martha Hudson was a great believer in marriage, even after her own disastrous one to Terence Hudson, the greatest creep and pervert since Jack the Ripper roamed the streets.

With difficulty, she pushed open the door to her flat; the weight of the groceries was causing her arthritic wrists to flare in pain. She'll put her shopping away, then maybe have a cup of tea and rest her poor feet. She could play a bit of bingo with her new laptop. It was such a thoughtful gift from Sherlock. It meant that she could still contact people, and play games, even when she didn't leave the house. He was a nice boy, that one. If only he learnt to think before he opened his mouth.

Martha walked into her kitchen where she'd left her laptop on the sideboard to charge. From his new perch beside the dripping tap, Jesse looked at Mrs. Hudson. Martha shook her head, smiling. "Well then. Maybe not bingo?"

* * *

I absolutely adore _The Adventure of the Civil Partnership_, and I tried to write this segment without giving away any spoilers for those of you who want to go and read it. Go, it's fantastic :)

Reviews Are Love


	38. Every Time We Say Goodbye

**Chapter Title:** "Every time we say goodbye, I die a little. Every time we say goodbye, I wonder why, a little." Every Time We Say Goodbye, Rod Stewart.

**Inspired By:** Sherlock: A Day In The Life Of Mycroft Holmes, IBegToDreamAndDiffer

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Lestrade

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Mycroft pressed his lips to Greg's temple, "Gregory, darling?"

The whisper had the DI groaning awake, "Wassup?" He yawned widely, blinking his brown eyes and rubbing at them sleepily.

"Something's come up, _mon chérie_," Mycroft leant over the bed to kiss Greg chastely on the lips. "I'm flying to Sydney immediately."

"Oh," Greg said. He scratched his middle, rolling onto his back to wrap the sheets around himself.

"I promise that I won't be too long. You just wait here, and I'll be back as soon as I can."

"You want me to stay right here, and not move an inch?" Greg splayed out in the centre of the bed. "Can do!"

Mycroft chuckled, kissing him again. "I'll call as soon as I can, darling. I'm sure I can work with Adelaide to sort this out."

"Adelaide your assistant or Adelaide the city?" Greg raised an eyebrow.

Mycroft smoothed his clothes, "Adelaide the Australian me." He straightened his waistcoat before adding, "My assistant is using the name Artemis today."

"Fair enough," Greg yawned again. "I love you."

"I love you too," the politician smiled. "Go back to sleep." Mycroft crept from bedroom, closing the door softly so that Greg wouldn't stir. He heaved a sigh as he sat in the car, watching London's most iconic landmarks whip themselves into a blur.

* * *

The idea of 'multiple Mycrofts' running the scene was very popular, so I thought I'd mention more of them. This one is Adelaide J. Barneston, the Australian Government, and she probably has one of my favourite names. This is for all the lovers of multiple Mycrofts.

To those of you wondering why I've written _Sherlock: A Day In The Life Of Mycroft Holmes_ as my inspiration again, it's because it is one my favourite stories EVER. So if you haven't read it, please go and do so.

Reviews are love :)


	39. Come And Passed

**Chapter Title:** "Summer has come and passed, the innocent can never last. Wake me up when September ends." Wake Me Up When September Ends, Green Day

**Inspired By:** Reading the Hunger Games

**Pairings:** Mycroft/John (mentioned), Sherlock/John (friendship)

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

To say that it was awkward was an understatement.

Sherlock had been working in Scotland on a case, for three days, by himself as John's anniversary with Mycroft was coming up and the doctor didn't want to miss it. The detective had assumed that John would be with Mycroft when he sneaked back into Baker Street that night.

He hadn't expected to find John on the floor in tears.

"Hello?"

John looked up, startled. "Oh. Hello."

"I can come back later, if that's what you want?"

"No… It's fine, you can stay." John curled back onto himself, hugging a cushion to his chest. Sherlock stood in the living room awkwardly, unable to figure out what to do. John had said _stay_, so should he go to the sofa and continue as if John was not howling on the floor? But friends look out for each other (apparently), so should Sherlock ask him what's wrong?

Hesitantly, Sherlock walked to the sofa, and threw himself on it. "John, I can't concentrate with that hideous noise going on." Even as the detective spoke, he knew that was the wrong thing to say. He tried again. "John… Wh-why are you crying?"

"Harry, my sister, is dead." John burst into fresh tears, and nothing could be done by either him or Sherlock to stop the blubbing.

* * *

I was imagining what Sherlock style Hunger Games would be like, and then I started thinking about what John would do if Harry died. They don't have the greatest relationship, but he'd still be upset.

Reviews Are Love :)


	40. Gonna Be All Right

**Chapter Title:** "Don't worry about a thing, 'cause every little thing is gonna be all right", Three Little Birds, Bob Marley

**Inspired By:** Playing with a Spanish dictionary

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Sherlock family fluff

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"What's wrong with me, My?" Sherlock crawled into bed beside his brother. "I try to make friends, but they're cruel to me. Mycroft, what's a freak?"

Mycroft sat up, squinting through the darkness. "Do they call you that, Lock?"

"What does it mean, My?"

"A freak is an abnormal person or thing," Mycroft said. "You're not a freak, Sherlock. You're just different."

"Oh. Okay." They were silent again. Mycroft was falling asleep, but Sherlock's brain was whirring with new information, turning it over in his mind to examine it from all angles. "My?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"What does abnormal mean?"

"Not normal," Mycroft rolled over to face his brother. "Like… different."

"I'm different. So I must be abnormal?" Sherlock questioned.

"I suppose so."

"So I'm a freak. They're right, My. I _am_ a freak!"

Mycroft sat up again, a comforting arm resting on Sherlock's shoulder. "You are not a freak. You are an intellectually advanced individual."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that you're very clever! The boys at school don't like it, so they tease you."

"Are you ever bullied, My?"

"No. I know how to keep my mouth shut, _especially_ when I'm supposed to be in my bed!" He tickled his brother to emphasise his point. "Go. To. Sleep!"

Sherlock giggled. "Love you."

"Love you too. Now button your beak!"

* * *

After my sad chapter of yesterday, I thought I'd post a lighter, fluffier one where the two brothers are getting along. Also, I realised last night that I've written 50 drabbles so far! This is my 40th, so all I need to do is post them here, but 50 drabbles is still cool. And for anybody suggested pairings for me (a few chapters back now) they are coming!

Reviews are Love :)


	41. What's It Like To Be Old?

**Chapter Title:** "Tell me what's it like to be old? What's it like to be old? What's it like to be old? Tell me, what's it like to be old?" What's It Like To Be Old? - Cock Sparrer

**Inspired By:** Reading the website for Harrow School

**Pairings:** N/A

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Sherlock careened into the house after his walk in the manor grounds with his nanny. He was splattered from mandible in metatarsals in mud, and was traipsing it throughout the house and spoiling the antique rugs. Rushing into the pastel coloured room, he skidded to a halt. "Mummy, why are you taking all of Mycroft's things away?"

"Mycroft won't be sleeping the nursery with you anymore, Sherlock," Mummy Holmes informed her youngest son. "He's too old. We're taking all his things to his new bedroom."

"But why is he too old? Am I too old for the nursery now?"

"No, Sherlock," Mrs. Holmes watched the maids with beady eyes as they collected up the boxes of Mycroft's assorted paraphernalia. "Mycroft is almost eleven. It is time for him to have a room of his own. He'll be starting school at Harrow in September."

Sherlock followed his mother, helping to transfer Mycroft's music books to the room further along the corridor. "But Mycroft said that Harrow is a boarding school! He won't need his room if he's sleeping there."

"But he'll need one for when he back over the holidays, won't he?" Mummy said. "Why don't you go and play with your brother?"

Sherlock shrugged, gloomily trudging downstairs to the drawing room. "Mycroft, Mummy said you're too old to share my bedroom."

* * *

This was supposed to have Sherlock asking Mycroft what it was like to be old (hence the title), but I hit my word limit. If anybody was interested in why the title was picked for this chapter.

I was wondering if people could tell me what drabbles they liked most, just so I can see what pairings and situations you'd like to see more of. I hit into writer's block on these, and I'm hoping that your suggestions will help give me ideas.

Reviews are love :)


	42. Hold Your Hand

**Chapter Title:** "Oh yeah, I'll tell you something, I think you'll understand. When I'll say that something, I wanna hold your hand." I Want To Hold Your Hand, The Beatles.

**Inspired By:** The First Time… Atlin Merrick

**Pairings:** John/Sherlock

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"_John," Sherlock traces circles on his boyfriend's chest, feeling the slow rhythmic tempo of his heart._

"_Yes, love?" John yawns. It isn't often that they can laze in bed (due to Sherlock's continued experiments and tendency to not sleep), and the warmth is rather cosy._

"_I love you," Sherlock rests his head in the crook of John's neck, inhaling the doctor's scent. He smells of wood and tea and rage. "I love everything about you, from your smile to your smell, from the way you let me experiment on you, to the way you keep me toasty warm in the night."_

"_What's brought this on?" John finds Sherlock's hand under the duvet. He gives it a gentle squeeze._

"_Oh, nothing," Sherlock squeezes John's hand in return. "Just thought I'd let you know."_

"_I love you too," John kisses the detective's knuckles._

John looked at Molly, who was buzzing around the laboratory performing tests on the latest batch of murder victims, collecting data to aid police investigations. Content that she was distracted, John stretched a hand out at his side, linking his fingers with somebody invisible. _He knew, didn't he? That he was going to die?_

"John?" Molly's sweet voice cut through his thoughts. "I said, could you pass me the silver nitrate?"

"Sure thing, Moll," John smiled, handing her the bottle.

* * *

This is what you get if I listen to The Beatles whilst reading/writing stories. I quite like writing the ones with Molly in the lab, showing what she can do because I love Molly. She deserves more recognition.

Reviews are Love :)


	43. Take Care Of Him

**Chapter Title:** "She wanted more from life than he could give. I said somebody's got to take care of him, so I quit school and that's what I did" Fast Car, Tracy Chapman

**Inspired By:** Mystrade Advent Calendar, Pawfoot (chapter 12)

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Lestrade

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Bobbin! How's it going?" Greg cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder, working with the can-opener to open some soup for Mycroft. The British Government had finally admitted defeat to his germs, and had fallen into bed with the flu. "Listen, I was thinking about coming down to visit the kids soon. Oh! Well, I'll have to chat to Mycroft when he wakes up, but I'm sure that he'll love to have the kids over to stay!"

He paused, listening to his sister Roberta chat about the state of her marriage, and how she and Keith needed to go away by themselves.

"Yeah, the only problem, Bobbin, is that Mycroft's got the flu at the moment. So, it'd be me having to look after them, as well as go to work. Can't you leave them with Mum? Oh. Alright then, I'll phone you back tomorrow with my answer. Love you too." He hung up, and placed the phone on the counter beside the bowl of steaming chicken soup.

He didn't mind looking after Meg and Lucian, honestly, but looking after eight year old twins, as well as a sickly Holmes didn't bear thinking about. Greg sat on the edge of the bed, "My? I made you soup; how're you feeling?"

"Like absolute Hell," Mycroft groaned, curling back into a ball.

* * *

Not much to explain on this chapter. I wanted to write some Mystrade fluff that shows Greg taking care of Mycroft because we all know that Mycroft takes care of Greg with his super powers.

Reviews are love :)


	44. Looking For Something

**Chapter Title:** "Sweet dreams are made of these; who am I to disagree? I travel the world and the seven seas. Everybody's looking for something." Sweet Dreams, Eurythmics.

**Inspired By:** "Of course he's not the boy's father! Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!" Sherlock Holmes, The Great Game.

**Written For:** Amelia, my anonymous reviewer

**Pairings:** Molly/Mycroft, Harry/Clara (mentioned)

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

The second time that Mycroft met Molly, it was in her kitchen. Sherlock was clinging to his sleeve, desperate for news about John, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. He had so many questions. Was John safe? Did Lestrade still have a job? Was everything going to be okay?

"Sherlock, let him get through the door!" Molly chided. She smiled brightly at the elder Holmes, "Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee?"

"No, thank you. This is only a flying visit; I must return to the office."

Sherlock returned to his perch on Molly's sofa. "Is John safe? Did he ask why you were taking my clothes?"

"John has not returned to 221b since your death. He is currently staying with his sister's ex-wife, Clara Dylan."

The detective made a noise of anguish and grabbed his curls in his fists. "I need to see him!"

"Sherlock, honey, why don't you go watch Jeremy Kyle and see if you can deduce the paternity tests?" Molly expertly diffused the Sherlockian grief bomb. Mycroft watched incredulously as his little brother slouched with his cereal to watch mind-numbing television.

"Nicely done."

"I did my residency in a children's hospital," Molly explained. "Before that, I used to babysit."

"You really must tell me in detail one day," Mycroft said suavely.

Sherlock glanced at them, wrinkling his nose. "Boring."

* * *

I kind of like this pairing. It's not my immediate go-to one, because I'm a strong Mystrader and I think that Molly and Dimmock make the cutest couple ever. But I'd read some Molcroft if I needed something different to read. So thank you, Amelia, for suggesting this pairing.

Reviews are love :)


	45. I Make You Cry

**Chapter Title:** "You were in love with some other guy. He looked just like me, but I make you cry. You know I don't mean to; I'm just an asshole sometimes." A-Hole, Bowling For Soup.

**Inspired By:** Life Goes On (me imagining it with Sherlock in the cupboard)

**Pairings:** N/A, but you can read it with any pairing you like.

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"I'm sorry," Sherlock leant in to kiss Molly's cheek. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

Molly sniffled and wiped her eyes. "Why are you so mean?"

Sherlock looked at the pathologist and her red-rimmed eyes. No answer came to his tongue. "I'm sorry, Molly."

"I forgive you, Sherlock." She grabbed tissue to blow her nose. "Can you pass me the litmus paper please?" The little booklet was pressed into her hand. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Sherlock watched her test a substance with the paper. It turned blue. "Alkaline," he offered in an attempt to be helpful.

"Thank you Sherlock," Molly said again. It wasn't his fault. He didn't mean to be horrible. She caught sight of the clock behind the detective's head. "Shit!"

Sherlock jumped out of his seat. "What is it? Acid burn?" He tried to pull her hand closer, wanting to inspect it for any damage. Molly yanked her hand back.

"John finishes with Mike early today. He'll be here in five minutes."

Sherlock's eyes widened. "Not good."

"You'll have to hide. Erm… That cupboard there?"

"I won't fit," Sherlock began to argue but Molly wasn't listening.

"Quickly!" Molly pushed Sherlock in, jamming him alongside test tube racks and stacks of Petri dishes. She slammed the door shut, cutting off the light. "Hello, John!How's your day been?"

* * *

I wanted to write more of Sherlock being sweet and apologetic to Molly, because there just isn't enough in the world. As for the cupboard, I have no excuse. I just really like the idea that Molly shuts Sherlock in the cupboard.

Sunshine :)


	46. Heart Of Mine

**Chapter Title:** "I'm gonna love you for the rest of my life, I'm holding you safe here in this heart of mine. I can't live without you cause my soul would die. You know I'm telling the truth; I'll spend the rest of my life loving you." I'm Gonna Love You, Jennifer Love Hewitt.

**Inspired By:** Watching an episode of How I Met Your Mother

**Pairings:** Molly/Dimmock

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

The maître d'hôtel bowed her into the restaurant. "May I take your coat, madam?"

"Ooh, thank you!" Molly felt swept up into the classy atmosphere. "You're very kind."

They led her up the grand staircase, richly carpeted in blue, with gilded marble bannisters. In a secluded corner was a table for two. Eugene Dimmock rose from his seat at the lavishly decorated table. "Hi, sweetheart." He kissed her shyly, pulling out her chair for her.

"Thank you, Gene," Molly said graciously as he tucked her chair in. "This is a lovely place, isn't it?"

"Yes, Lestrade and his beau were going to come here, but had to cancel at the last minute."

"Oh? And you asked to take it from him?"

"No," Gene smiled. "He called it an anniversary present. We have been together for a whole year."

Molly gushed, "Greg's so kind!"

"He sure is. Did you want a drink?"

"Red wine, please."

"Coming right up, angel," Gene raised his hand for attention. A waiter materialised beside them. "A bottle of red, please."

The wine was on their table in a flash, accompanied by a ring box. "Molly Rose Hooper," Dimmock sank to one knee. "I love you so much. Will you marry me?"

"I will!" Molly exclaimed, her cheeks reddening to the same colour as her glass of Burgundy.

* * *

I needed more Dimolly. They are my favourite unpopular pairing because they're just so fluffy together.

So, I have a bit of a random question for you (don't worry, I'm not going to beg for more pairing ideas and requests this time) because you are all awesome people with clever ideas. What terms of endearment do you think certain characters would use for their partners? For example, I think that Mycroft would use French for his love, such as _mon chérie_, and that John would use _love_. It can be for any character you choose; I'm just reusing too many terms of endearment and they're getting pretty worn out.

Reviews Are Love :)


	47. Never Let You Go

**Chapter Title: **"We danced so close, we danced so slow, and I swore I'd never let you go! Together forever!" Never Say Goodbye, Bon Jovi.

**Inspired By: **Watching Don't Tell The Bride

**Pairings:** John/Sherlock

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"I'm going to miss you," John pressed his lips against Sherlock's trembling pair. "Now don't cry, okay. Three weeks will fly by, you'll see."

Sherlock caught John's hand again. "But I don't want you to go."

"Don't. _Don't_. You'll make _me_ cry," John felt actual tears sting the back of his eyes. He wanted the cameras to go away for a few minutes so that his emotional, heartfelt goodbye to Sherlock could be a little more private. Since Sherlock's resurrection, they hadn't been apart for longer than two days.

"Please," Sherlock whispered. "Don't leave me, okay."

John put on his happy face. "No can do, love. I have to skedaddle so that you can ruin our wedding and have Mycroft fix it all again." He cuddled Sherlock close, almost fusing their bodies together. "Just… remember that I love you, okay. And if you get bored, you can always go through my stuff and catalogue it all."

"I love you."

"I love you too," John reassured the detective, "I've really got to go, love. This is getting tedious now."

"Okay," Sherlock reluctantly let go of John's fingers. He watched John get into the cab, watching it drive away to his sister's flat in Hackney.

John watched 221 disappear behind him, and begun to regret applying to appear on _Don't Tell the Bride_.

* * *

I was watching _Don't Tell The Bride_, and a little portion at the back of my head created this. For those of you who don't know, _Don't Tell The Bride_ is a show where they give the groom a budget and three weeks to plan a wedding, and their brides have no input whatsoever. I love it a lot more than I should. Enjoy.

Sunshine :)


	48. Somebody Notice Me

**Chapter Title:** "Somebody notice me, somebody notice! I'm fading away here…" She Wants To Be Me, Busted

**Inspired By:** Sherlock: This Is War, IBegToDreamAndDiffer

**Pairings:** Anthea/Sally

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Anthea gracefully stepped out of the sleek, black car. It wasn't often that she accompanied Mr. Holmes inside Scotland Yard on his trips here, but she had been seated for a while, and was beginning to get cramp in her leg.

Tapping away on her Blackberry, the PA stonily ignored Mr. Holmes' hissed argument with his brother. She disregarded most of the meetings she attended; not of respect, but simply because she was uninterested. Many of the officers stared at the squabbling virtuosi. Anthea was ignoring the burn of their gaze; both Mr. Holmes the elder and Mr. Holmes the younger were too caught up in their quarrel to notice.

A hand touched Anthea on the shoulder. "They'll be bickering for a while. Can I get you a coffee as you wait?"

Nobody ever thought about Anthea, standing in the background and blending into the scenery. The PA must have looked startled, looking at the face of DS Sally Donovan. "Erm…"

"Don't feel forced. I just thought you might get thirsty." Sally turned and stalked back to her desk.

"Tea. Lots of milk and no sugar," Anthea spoke quickly. "Please."

"Coming up," Sally smiled kindly. "You're always with Suits. What's your name?"

Anthea thought about which name to give. "You can call me Angela," she grinned, tapping away on her Blackberry.

* * *

Anthea is my current favourite character, and I was reading a story (Mystrade Advent Calender, Pawfoot) which mentioned Sally/Anthea. So I decided to write it, and it's my favourite pairing for them! I hope you like it as much as I do.

Sunshine :)


	49. Disease Someone Called Love

**Chapter Title:** "My mental stability reaches its bitter end, and all my senses are coming unglued. Is there any cure for this disease someone called love? Not as long as there are girls like you." 80, Green Day.

**Inspired By:** A chat with the lovely IBegToDreamAndDiffer

**Written For:** insertwittynicknamehere, who asked for Donovan/anybody but Anderson

**Pairings:** Sally/Anthea, Molly/Dimmock, Mycroft/Lestrade

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Sally and Anthea had been dating for about three months, and within that time-frame, Anthea had cancelled eighteen of their twenty-four dates.

Luckily, Molly Hooper was willing to tag along to the cinema and keep Sally company. Molly visited Scotland Yard more frequently since she got engaged to Dimmock, which is why Sally invited her. The pathologist didn't have many gal-pals, so Sally was there to listen as Molly complained about everything from her co-workers to planning a wedding.

Equally, Molly lent Sally her ears as the DS griped and grumbled about her girlfriend's job, and how situations would crop up out of the blue, prompting a flight abroad at a moment's notice. It was these times that brought Sally and Lestrade closer – the DI's boyfriend was Anthea's boss, so they'd both go off disappearing to Portugal or Kenya and leave the coppers in cold beds.

"How do you cope with it?" Sally groaned one morning over a coffee which tasted more like dishwater.

"It gets better," Lestrade said, shifting in his seat. "You just have to accept that she's needed there. Mycroft needs her the most; she makes sure that he actually gets to places on time."

Sally laughed. "Your love's the sort to wander around without a head, then?"

"Strictly between us, Donovan," Lestrade grinned, chewing his Belgian bun.

* * *

Sally/Anthea is my absolute favourite pairing of the minute so I've gone on a writing spree with them. My current top three pairings are Santhea (Sally/Anthea), Dimolly (Dimmock/Molly), and recently MorMor (Moriarty/Moran). There's something about the MorMor pairing which is so unique and cool, so I'll try and write one for them soon, but you know it takes forever for me to get around to writing stuff, particularly since I've started my A Levels and will be buried under homeworks and courseworks.

Sunshine :)


	50. Miss You, Babe

**Chapter Title:** "Don't want to close my eyes, I don't want to fall asleep 'cause I'd miss you babe, and I don't want to miss a thing." I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing, Aerosmith

**Inspired By:** Reading the news

**Written For:** Call Me Mad, because all the Mycrofts needed to meet up!

**Pairings:** Sally/Anthea

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

The sunset over Kyoto turned the heavens into a veritable treasure chest, spilling gold across the sky. The final meeting of the day was being wrapped up, and in the corridor outside, Mycroft Holmes' PA was falling asleep onto the PA to the French Government.

She was severely jet-lagged, and prior to flying she had spent hours organising all of Mr. Holmes' clothes, luggage and his schedule. In between ferrying Mr. Holmes to his meetings and texting her girlfriend in England, Anthea just hadn't slept.

Hence she was dozing on the shoulder of Élodie St. Pierre. Élodie seemed fine with this arrangement – possibly because her boss, Fabrice Dubois, had fallen asleep on her so many times.

"Anoushka, we're all finished now," Mycroft smiled. "But you're very welcome to stay and sleep on Mademoiselle St. Pierre if you wish."

"Sorry sir," Anthea yawned, stretching out her arms and back. "That was unprofessional."

"That's quite all right," Mycroft replied smoothly. "It's been a long day. You're off-duty until nine am. Go back to the hotel."

"Yes, sir," Anthea rubbed her eyes. Hopefully, she could ring Sally before she fell asleep. She _had_ promised, after all.

Anthea stumbled into her room, tumbled onto the mattress and pressed a button on her phone.

"Hi, Annie!" Sally chirped.

"Hey Sal," Anthea yawned. "How're you doing, babe?"

* * *

I didn't get to write about all the Governments being in the same room, but I implied it and that's more or less the same thing. This is what I imagine is happening when Sally and Greg are on their stakeout in the last chapter eating Belgian buns and drinking coffee.

Reviews are always appreciated :)


	51. No Escaping Your Love

**Chapter Title:** "Well baby, I surrender to the strawberry ice cream, never-ever end of all this love. Well I didn't mean to do it, but there's no escaping your love." Accidentally In Love, Counting Crows.

**Inspired By:** The pool scene from The Great Game

**Pairings:** Molly/Moriarty

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Jim looked at his girlfriend sleeping in the bed; her skin was bleached white by the moon, and contrasted wonderfully with her mauve bedclothes. She looked peaceful; a flicker of a smile caressed her lips.

He had some business to attend to, and Molly's sleep shouldn't be disrupted by him leaving for a midnight meet. However, she did like to cuddle something as she snored, so the consulting criminal had replaced himself with a life-sized cuddly tiger.

Dressed in his Westwood suit (the nice one; he couldn't very well go and introduce himself to Sherlock Holmes as the great consulting criminal in his wacky, triangle-pattern suit), he perched on the windowsill and noticed Molly's slight shiver.

He swung back inside.

Jim hiked the duvet up to cover Molly's bare shoulder, "There you are, my dear." He smoothed her hair and brushed any loose strands off her face.

"Thanks, Jim," murmured Molly.

"Shh, go back to sleep," Jim gently kissed her temple, "Dream of me." She wouldn't remember anyway. He always slipped her a sleeping pill if he had to sneak away.

Molly shifted and soon delicate snores could be heard once more. Jim Moriarty sat on the ledge of the ground floor window and blew her a kiss. Yes, he was smitten, yes, it was dangerous, but no- he wasn't bothered.

* * *

A lot of my latest ideas have come from listening to songs and just being struck by a pairing, like "This is such a good song for Johnlock!" as an example, so my question to you is: Is there a song that you think just screams a pairing? If so, what song (and who by), and for which pairing. I know I ask some weird questions, but I like doing that and you don't have to answer, it's just interesting to see what other people think.

Sunshine :)


	52. The Things That You Do

**Chapter Title:** "It's been a hard day's night, and I've been working like a dog. It's been a hard day's night; I should be sleeping like a log! But when I get home to you, I find the things that you do will make me feel all right." A Hard Day's Night, The Beatles

**Inspired By:** 3:47am, IBegToDreamAndDiffer

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Lestrade

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

He liked those days when they were both home and could spend time simply enjoying each other's company. True, they lived together so they definitely saw a lot of one another, but there was something special about being awake and together as the rest of the world dreamt. Those times were rare; with their busy work lives, they didn't wake up at stupid o'clock very often.

Gregory Lestrade shuffled into the lounge with a massive yawn. He had wound a blanket around himself to keep out the night air. It had been a hot day, but the night was quite brisk.

He found Mycroft Holmes hunched over a laptop, furiously clacking away at the keys. Greg watched him for a few moments from the doorway. "Sit up straight or you'll hurt your back. Didn't your mother ever teach you correct posture?"

Mycroft looked around, straightening in the chair, "Did I wake you?"

"Needed the toilet," Greg sat on the arm of Mycroft's chair. "What're you doing?"

The politician placed his arm around Gregory, "I spoke with Mädchen about the Eurozone crisis. She ever so slightly got annoyed."

"She tell you to piss off?"

"Mm," Mycroft rested his chin on Greg's head. "And the Prime Minister wants to know if we'd like to join him and his wife next week for badminton."

* * *

For true, pure Mystradey fluff (because sometimes you just need it), go and read 3:47am by IBegToDreamAndDiffer. It's really pretty.

New Question: Do you have any random nicknames on your mobile phone (or cellphone, whatever you call it) for people, or are you stored in anyone's phonebook under a crazy name? Ones that if anybody else saw them they'd just think "That's weird"? For example, I'm in my sister's phone under Ginger Rogers. If so, what are they?

_Sunshine :)_


	53. We're Halfway There

**Chapter Title: **"Oh, we're halfway there, woah, livin' on a prayer. Take my hand, and we'll make it I swear. Woah-oh, livin' on a prayer." Livin' On A Prayer, Bon Jovi

**Inspired By:** Reading a book called _Diary Of A Snob_, by Grace Dent.

**Beta:** Rairakku1234

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Sherlock family fluff

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Staff Nurse Falden poked his head around the door. "Sherlock, your brother's here to see you."

"My brother?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He sat up from where he'd been a crumpled heap on the floor, keenly listening to the private conversation between Doctor Kelso and one of the nurses through the floorboards.

"Yes, your brother," Nurse Falden gave a smile, "He's in the visitors' room."

Sherlock stood slowly, curtly nodding agreement.

Mycroft glanced around the visitors' room as he waited patiently for his brother; the room was completely white, except for a blandly framed picture of an orange lily. As Sherlock entered, dragging his bare feet, Mycroft noticed that his black curls as haywire as ever, his skin was paper white and his second-hand dressing gown a size too small.

"My," he said, in a little voice. "I thought you'd forgotten all about me. Is Romania more important than your brother, then?"

"I had to go for work, Sherlock. I'd never abandon you. You're family."

"And family means nobody gets left behind," Sherlock replied sarcastically.

Mycroft ignored the sarcasm, taking more interest in the continued decreased tension in Sherlock's shoulders as he replied, "Or forgotten."

Sherlock stared at him, before repeating, "Or forgotten."

"As long as I'm living, my brother you'll be," Mycroft recited, "Even when you're being a brat."

* * *

Many thanks to Rairakku1234 for betaing this chapter and making it better. This is my first attempt at writing a fluffy family moment between Sherlock and Mycroft when they're both adults (and without Greg or John in the room).

Sunshine :)


	54. Caller ID

**Chapter Title:** "I don't answer the phone when it's you. It's funny when I see the caller ID, which shows the phone line's still in your dad's name." If You Come Back To Me, Bowling For Soup

**Inspired By:** Sherlock: This Is War, IBegToDreamAndDiffer

**Written For:** IBegToDreamAndDiffer since it was her idea to have Molly and Dimmock eating lunch together.

**Pairings:** Molly/Dimmock, Sally/Anthea

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Hey," Molly knocked on the door.

Eugene Dimmock looked up from the case file he was reading, "Hey."

"I texted to see if you were busy, but I didn't get any reply," Molly held up a carrier bag. "I bought lunch."

"Mm, sounds great!" Dimmock walked to the door and kissed her chastely. He took the bag of food and closed the door.

"Good day?"

"Not really," Dimmock admitted. "Somebody's gone through my phone and changed all the names in my phonebook."

"Oh," Molly opened her pasta salad. "Let me see; maybe I can help."

Gene slid out the desk drawer, "Here, angel."

Molly put down her plastic spork. She swiped a finger over the touchscreen of Eugene's Samsung Galaxy. "Hmm," she hummed in thought. She retrieved her phone from her handbag and clicked some buttons. "I think Ooh, Chicken Salad might be Sally."

Dimmock groaned, slamming his head on the desk. "Bloody Hell. I bet she's the one who stole my phone in the first place."

"Oh, don't pout," Molly smiled and leant forward to kiss her boyfriend. "She's just jealous because your girlfriend's not in Canada."

Dimmock smiled back, "Love you, angel."

"Love you too," Molly replied, scrolling through Dimmock's phonebook again. "Who could She's A Rebel be?"

"Could be Sally's girlfriend Anthea?" Dimmock suggested.

"No, she's Admiral Bubbles."

* * *

These are the randomnest names I could come up with, but thanks to all those people who responded when I asked. And if anyone can tell me the three places these came from, I'll give you a virtual cookie. Or write you a drabble, but my cold has jammed cotton wool into my head and it's really hard to think at the moment. However, it's really nice to have new ideas for stuff, so by all means ask for a drabble.

Sunshine :)


	55. Now And Then

**Chapter Title:** "So goodbye, dear, and amen, here's hoping we meet now and then. It was great fun, but it was just one of those things…" Just One Of Those Things, John Barrowman.

**Inspired By:** It's Not Love, thisisforyou

**Pairings:** Moriarty/Moran; Molly/Moriarty (mentioned)

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Sebastian Moran knew this (whatever _this_ was) would come to an end. But he couldn't help but hope that it wouldn't finish. He and Jim had a good working relationship, and were totally professional. The sex was an unexpected, yet much appreciated, bonus.

So he tried not to think too much. Besides, too much thinking just overcomplicated everything, and it put Seb off focus. This, as a sniper, was somewhere he didn't want to be.

Things got worse after that pathologist came on the scene. He was sure that their… '_arrangement_' had reached its ugly, bitter and wholly unavoidable termination. Although it had been expected, Seb still felt a stab of jealousy every time he saw how happy she made Jim. Every one of those goofy smiles, once directed at him but now at her, was like a nail hammered through his chest.

Until one morning, when Moriarty slid into the backseat and sighed a sigh of something akin to relief, "She's gone."

Sebastian's heart fluttered. _That irritating Molly was gone? Could they restart their arrangement from where they'd left off?_ Jim's hand shot out, grabbing his collar, and the consulting criminal's lips smashed against the sniper's mouth.

"Where to, sir?" Seb asked hoarsely, feeling a bit fuzzy and light-headed.

"Tesco; I want to feed the ducks, and I need bread."

* * *

My first proper MorMor drabble! Last time I tried to write one of these, Molly squeezed her way in and suddenly Seb didn't even get a mention. As for Moriarty and feeding the ducks: I'm not in the slightest bit sorry.

Sunshine :)


	56. In These Arms

**Chapter Title:** "I would give anything, my blood, my love, my life, to have you in these arms tonight." In These Arms, Bon Jovi

**Inspired By: Sherlock:** Boxes On Beds, IBegToDreamAndDiffer

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Lestrade

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Mycroft looked at his sleeping partner and couldn't help but smile at the man in his arms. The DI shifted in his sleep; Mycroft kept very still.

"Mycroft," Greg whispered, scratching his leg. "You're squishing me."

"Apologies, _mon chérie_," Mycroft moved off Greg's stocky torso. "Is that better?"

"Much better."

Mycroft continued to watch his love as Greg settled back down into sleep. It was warm and cosy in the bed with his Gregory, and Mycroft listened to the hiss of the rain outside. It was very comfortable to be in a warm bed with the man he loved. The politician wrapped his arms around the DI once again, resting his head on the pillow and willing the buzz inside his brain to switch off for the night.

The sharp indignant tones of Mycroft's phone pierced the air; the politician's eyes snapped open.

"No, no, don't go…" A warm hand gripped his forearm. "Stay with me; I'm more important."

"Holmes."

Greg continued to quietly protest in the background. "Send someone else; I'm the one you want…"

"I'll be right there," Mycroft confirmed before hanging up. "Gregory, _mon chérie_, there's an emergency; I have to meet with Li Ming Hao immediately."

Greg yawned, "Where to, now?" He asked, pursing his lips in an expectant manner. Mycroft smiled, kissing Greg's awaiting lips.

"Beijing."

* * *

Another government down, this time the Chinese Government. And some Mystrade, because let's face it, I'm a bit of a sucker for Mycroft and Greg being all cosy and cute together. Any requests for the next government you want to see? Russia, Australia (again), Canada, the USA or another one? Take your pick.

On a different note: Sorry for all those people waiting for this; I've been super busy with all my schoolwork because each teacher seems to think their subject is the most important. That, and I got caught in reading this book we're studying for English Literature called _Regeneration_. Even if you're not interested in the First World War, it's an interesting story anyway.

Sunshine :)


	57. Fort Out of Sheets

**Chapter Title:** "We drove to Cali and got drunk on the beach. Got a motel and built a fort out of sheets." Teenage Dream, Katy Perry

**Inspired By:** Building a den and playing board games with my little sister

**Pairings:** Sally/Anthea

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Annie, why do you change your name every day?" Sally asked, studying the checkers board. Her girlfriend just smiled enigmatically and stretched out across the quilt until her eyes were just centimetres from Sally's studious orbs.

"It's a secret," Anthea whispered seductively, brushing her lips against Sally's forehead.

"Don't!" Sally batted her away. "You're putting me off."

"Maybe that's my plan, babe," Anthea grinned, flopping back into the pillows.

It was one of their infrequent, lazy mornings where neither of them had to work, and the pair had chosen to build a blanket fort and play board games. So far, Anthea had won Cluedo and chess, but Sally had won Payday, Trivial Pursuit and was pretty confident about winning checkers too if Anthea didn't keep distracting her.

Sally moved her piece on the board, "King me."

"Here you are; one beautiful crown." Anthea smiled broadly, stacking another piece on top of Sally's checker. From the corner of the room, her Blackberry chirped.

Sally looked up, "Work?" she asked, not bothering to disguise the disappointment in her voice.

Anthea clicked through her messages. "No; just my mother wanting me to visit soon," She threw her phone back into the corner and slithered into her spot beside Sally. "I'm feeling hungry now."

"Same," Sally rubbed her growling stomach. "What d'you want for breakfast?"

* * *

Has anyone else ever wondered what Anthea does in her spare time? There is a high chance she may feel like playing board games. If you're wondering why I've written checkers even though in England the game is called draughts: me and my sisters call it checkers so it's more normal for me to write it. Who knows, Anthea might be part American and call them checkers too.

Sunshine :)


	58. Time Goes By

**Chapter Title:** "And though time goes by, I will always be in a club with you in 1973…" 1973, James Blunt

**Inspired By:** Reading an article in Spanish about family sizes and children

**Pairings:** N/A

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Mycroft rested his elbows on the table, rubbing the back of his head. For the last few hours he'd been trapped in a fierce debate with the Russian Government, Alexei Vetrov, via email. All he could hope was that it was resolved peacefully through these emails or a phone call so that he didn't have to fly out to Moscow. Those meetings always tended to get messy; more than once Mycroft had come away with injuries ranging from broken bones to gunshot wounds.

Anthea entered the room, a cup of coffee in one hand and a file stamped **TOP SECRET **in the other. "The Prime Minister is on the line sir," she said, "And the Minister for Education is on the other."

"Thank you, Antoinette," Mycroft accepted the heavenly coffee. Anthea leant over to gather his empty cups. "Should be thinking of names soon," he commented as Anthea's baby bump caught his eye.

"Yes sir, I've got a few I like. I'll have to run them past the father first though."

"Yes, of course," Mycroft rolled up his sleeves and began typing a reply to Alexei. "You're free to go, Antoinette."

"I was about to, sir, if you didn't mind. It's getting late."

"Goodnight, Antoinette," Mycroft rubbed his eyes. He'd be hard pushed to find another PA quite like Anthea Barry.

* * *

Thinking about maternity leave and raising children in my Spanish class, and I just started wondering what Mycroft's super-ninja PA would do when she was pregnant. My headcanon places her in danger practically every day, which could be an issue. And then when she's on maternity leave, she'll have to get somebody to cover for her which is another difficulty. What do you think?

Thanks for all being so supportive with this story. I absolutely appreciate every review, favourite, subscription, and those words of advice or suggestions that help me to improve the way that I write. Much obliged.

Sunshine :)


	59. Listen To Me Whine

**Chapter Title: **"Do you have the time to listen to me whine, about nothing and everything all at once? I am one of those melodramatic fools, neurotic to the bone, no doubt about it..." Basket Case, Green Day

**Inspired By:** "I used that knife to cut a pancreas, I put mould on that cutting board, semen in that measuring cup, and I boiled peaches in the saucepan." The Pull Of One Magnet To Another,

**Pairings:** John/Sherlock, Mycroft/Lestrade, Sally/Anthea (mentioned), Mycroft/Anthea (mentioned)

**Written For:** IBegToDreamAndDiffer, because Mycroft is so gay that even lesbians are attracted to him.

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Here you are mate; a nice beer," Lestrade set the glass in front of the doctor. "So, how's life?"

"I found toes in the bathroom cabinet when I was looking for toothpaste this morning," John informed him. "From the look of it, they'd been there a while."

"Well, last time I spoke to Sherlock, he was going to put them in the oven, so it could've been worse."

"Oh no, there're thumbs there instead."

Lestrade grinned into his lager, "Might be shrunken toes." He laughed as John pulled a face.

"That's not helping."

"I didn't come to help; I came to mock."

"How's life for you?" John changed the subject, fiddling with a coaster.

"Oh, same old, really," Greg grabbed the coaster and placed it under his beer. "Paperwork, Sherlock, murders and the ever-present fear that Mycroft will leave me for his PA that he managed to knock up."

"You mean the PA who is currently dating Sally Donovan?" John asked, "I'm fairly sure she's only ten percent straight."

"Are you saying my boyfriend is so gay even lesbians find it hot?"

John grinned at the DI. "You never know, Greg."

"At least he doesn't leave body parts lying around."

"That you know of," John smirked. "There could be a dead guy rotting in your basement."

"We don't have a basement."

* * *

The first drabble with Greg and John down the pub, _One Last Beer_, was very popular. I thought it was about time that they had another trip out. I should name their pub really. Any suggestions, send them my way.

Review are love :)


	60. Make Me So Happy

**Chapter Title:** "Sometimes I just want to kiss you, and tell you I love you; for you I'd eat tofu, and I don't like tofu, but you make me so happy sometimes!" Sometimes, Bowling For Soup.

**Inspired By:** Sherlock: Purple On Brown, IBegToDreamAndDiffer

**Beta:** Rairakku1234

**Pairings:** Sherlock/John

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Sherlock, I'm going down the pub," John poked his head around the kitchen door. "Don't wait up."

Sherlock's eyes flickered away from his yeast experiment to look at John. "Okay."

"Would a goodbye kiss be too boring?" John asked, long ago realising that direct questions were best with Sherlock.

The detective stepped gracefully into the living room, taking John's faultless face between his hands, "Have fun with Lestrade," he whispered, landing a peck on John's unshaven cheek.

"Back soon," John said softly, bouncing to the door as he called, "Bye love!"

Sherlock sat back in the kitchen chair. The yeast was fermenting steadily, giving him time to think about his darling, who had just gone for his weekly gossip with Lestrade.

John Watson was an extraordinary man with a mind that worked hard, unlike so many others who let their brains rot. He had entered Sherlock's life and changed _everything_. His smile made something inside Sherlock giddy, but the detective liked the feeling. Sherlock wanted to make the doctor happy in any way that he could, whether it was buying the milk or eating whilst on a case. He'd eat tofu to see John smile, and he abhorred tofu.

The consulting detective looked at his watch. His love had been gone for two minutes! Sherlock sighed, glaring at the yeast beaker.

* * *

A huge thank you to Rairakku1234 for betaing this and a few other chapters, and for the terrific reviews I've been left. This one's for you, because you've been under the weather recently.

Sunshine :)


	61. Hey, Good Looking

**Chapter Title:** "Say hey, good lookin' - what ya got cookin'? How's about cooking somethin' up with me?" Hey Good Looking, Hank Williams

**Inspired By:** Chatting about curry with my friend (still not sure how we got on the subject)

**Written For:** MissMary, requesting Anthea/Molly

**Pairings:** Anthea/Molly

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Anthea tucked her phone into her pocket as she pranced into the large kitchen, "Hey good-looking," she greeted the petite woman who was stirring a saucepan. "Something smells delicious, and I don't mean the chicken curry."

"If you're about to ask what perfume I'm wearing, it's called soap," Molly replied dryly. "You've already used that joke."

Anthea slid in behind her to kiss her cheek, "Be nice; I haven't had time to work on my material."

Molly smiled, "Good day?"

"Pretty good," Anthea admitted, "I didn't have to go to Johannesburg." She stole a poppadom from the packet by Molly's elbow.

"Cheeky," Molly frowned. "Trouble in South Africa?"

"Classified, Miss Hooper," Anthea tapped her on the nose, "Mr. Holmes took my intern instead."

"You have an intern?" Molly asked, "Pass me those plates would you, treasure?"

Anthea leant across to collect the plates that Molly indicated, "I have an intern called Douglas. Mr. Holmes recommended that he shadow me as I'm apparently the finest PA he's ever had."

"Was this before or after you helped Sherlock set fire to his office?"

"Surprisingly, after," Anthea grinned. "He's a good boss; he'll allow me to make mistakes."

Molly dished the food onto plates, "Those Holmeses are a good bunch really," she said. "Right, dinner is served! There's naan bread in the bread bin."

* * *

I got this request about two months ago, and I found it really weird to write because I'm such a Santhea fan. But I like this pairing a little bit. Anthea kinda went completely out of character, but how do we know that she's all joking and smiles and weird when she's at home? So thank you, MissMary, for requesting this pairing. It was a weird challenge (a part of my mind was yelling "NOT MOLLY, SALLY! SALLY! S-A-L-L-Y!") but I feel good that I've managed to write it.

Much love,  
Sunshine :)


	62. Always Something Happening

**Chapter Title:** "Our house it has a crowd; there's always something happening, and it's usually quite loud…" Our House, Madness

**Inspired By:** Having all of my aunts and uncles in the same room for the first time in ten years.

**Pairings:** Sally/Anthea

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"How many brothers and sisters do you have?" Anthea draped the tartan tablecloth over their tiny table. "I don't have any siblings, but I've always wanted a brother."

"I'm one of eight," Sally said, uncorking a bottle of red wine. "It's good because you're never lonely, but you have to share everything. And I'm in the middle, so most of my clothes were hand-me-downs from my sisters."

"Eight? How many boys and girls?" Anthea sipped her wine.

"Half and half," Sally reflected on her childhood fondly. "I've got four brothers and three sisters." She placed a bowlful of pasta before Anthea, slipping into the chair opposite.

Anthea leant across to kiss Sally softly. "It looks wonderful, babe."

"My parents' anniversary's coming up soon actually," Sally chewed a sauce-covered pasta shape. "We're all going up there for drinks. You fancy coming?"

Anthea felt the blush creep up her neck, and drank some wine to hide it. "That sounds great," she smiled.

Sally sighed in relief, "I've been trying to get the courage to ask you for weeks!"

"I'll clear our schedules so we'll be free to go," Anthea stabbed a shape, placing it in her mouth.

Sally grinned even wider, "Just when I think I can't love you any more than I already do," she said, stirring the pasta around her bowl.

* * *

Do you guys want to see a drabble advent calender for December? It's an idea I've been flirting with, but if I'm going to do it I have to start writing them now. I'll do them in another collection, separate from this one, but I need your help: Should I write for only one pairing, or change pairing for every drabble? If I'm just writing one pairing, which one? If I'm changing, should I only do my favourites (Mystrade, Johnlock, Dimolly, Santhea and MorMor), or should I vary it with other pairings (like Johncroft, Mythea, Sherstrade, Moliarty)?

Reviews and suggestions are much appreciated!

Sunshine :)


	63. Sugar And Spice

**Chapter Title:** "Sugar and spice and everything nice wasn't meant for only girls. GI Joe in pantyhose is making room for the one and only king for a day!" King For A Day, Green Day

**Inspired By:** Watching series two of The League of Gentlemen

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Sherlock family fluff

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Mycroft!" Sherlock cried, "Mycroft, come and look at me!"

The elder Holmes uncrossed his legs, placed his book on the sofa beside him and sighed, "Yes, Sherlock?"

"No, come here!" Sherlock insisted, "I'm in Mummy's room."

Mycroft paused, "Why are you in Mummy's room?"

"Come see!"

Mycroft prepared himself for the worst – _has Sherlock used any of Mummy's expensive clothes and jewellery in some disgusting experiment? I seriously hope not_ – and opened the door. "Oh, Sherlock."

"Aren't I pretty?" Sherlock asked, bouncing on Mummy's bed, bedecked in her finery and smothered in her various cosmetics.

"Not the word I was going for," Mycroft folded his arms and frowned as the boisterous child continued bouncing on Mummy's mattress. "Look at the mess you've made!"

"So," Sherlock shrugged. "Let Mrs. Vertue clean it up."

"No, Sherlock, she shouldn't have to. _We're_ going to clean this up. Take off Mummy's shoes and dress, and go and wash your face," Mycroft said firmly. "Then come back to help me."

Sherlock looked at Mycroft and grumpily fell to sit on the edge of the bed. He kicked off Mummy's shoes before wriggling out of the elaborate tulle dress. Sherlock shot a glare at Mycroft as he stalked into the bathroom.

Mycroft sighed at the mess before him. It would take them hours to clean Mummy's bedroom.

* * *

Dear any of my readers on the East Coast and anywhere else affected by Sandy, I hope that you're all okay. As for the Sherlock dressing up in his mother's clothes, I'm not even sorry.

Sunshine :)


	64. Oh, Mysterious Girl

**Chapter Title:** "Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, mysterious girl! I wanna get close to you. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, mysterious girl! Move your body close to mine…" Mysterious Girl, Peter Andre

**Inspired By:** "Dimmock was texting Molly- he always got that stupid smile on his face when he was talking to his girlfriend" Give Me A Label (I'll Make Confetti), IBegToDreamAndDiffer

**Pairings:** Any

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Dimmock was texting again, working the tiny keypad with a huge smile plastered to his face.

"Who's he texting now?" Sally asked, perched on the edge of DS Mahoney's desk.

"Mystery woman," Lestrade shrugged. "But check the grin on his daft mush. I reckon it's _love_."

"There isn't a woman alive dense enough to fancy our Gene," DS Hadley, another sergeant, added from across the room.

Sally turned to look at him. "Hey, actually, I think he's rather sweet!" She glanced at Dimmock before adding, "But I wouldn't jump to leave my girlfriend if he asked me out."

"He's a bit of a cutie pie," DS Mahoney returned to her desk and handed Sally a cup of coffee.

"Cheers," Sally drank a mouthful of the hot liquid. "Who do you think his mystery woman is, Ayesha?"

Ayesha Mahoney shrugged, "I reckon it might be Lily from Princess Grace."

Greg snorted into his coffee, "That nutty pathologist who helps on cases if Bart's is full?"

"Where else would Dimmo meet a girl?" Hadley asked, spitting pastry over his paperwork. "He's only got the job."

"And his rabbits," Lestrade interjected. "He loves Gizmo and Inspector Gadget."

"True," Ayesha declared. "They're his desktop and everything."

"Maybe he met her at the vet?" Hadley wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"Hmm," said Sally. "Could be."

* * *

Whilst I was writing this, I was watching a YouTube video "Sherlock Won't Say He's In Love", because I'm a sucker for anything Sherlock and Disney. So then I was imagining the Yarders (and Sherlock, John, Anthea, Mycroft etc.) singing it with Dimmock because Dimmock's so in love, he just needs to admit it.

Dear Youtubers: I'd watch that video over and over and over if you could make it.

Sunshine :)


	65. Be Sweet, My Chickadee

**Chapter Title:** "So please be sweet, my chickadee, and when I kiss you, just say to me: It's delightful, it's delicious, it's delectable, it's delirious, it's dilemma, it's delimit, it's deluxe, it's de-lovely!" It's De-Lovely, John Barrowman

**Inspired By:** Sherlock: A Day In The Life Of Mycroft Holmes, IBegToDreamAndDiffer

**Written For:** All the new converts aboard HMS Santhea

**Pairings:** Sally/Anthea

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Anthea staggered into the dark bedroom after a long day involving a sick Holmes, four calamities and nearly a war with Canada because their Government, Emily Simpson, was in a bad mood. She tripped over her feet, crashing into a very warm _something_ in her bed.

Sally sat upright, startled, and banged heads with her girlfriend, "Hey."

"You've been here since Tuesday?" Anthea pawed at the quilt, too exhausted to change into her nightwear or do _anything_. She was fuelled by coffee and chance powernaps; ignoring those, the last forty-eight hours had been powered by six hours sleep. Consequently, the PA wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep all day.

"Do you mind?" Sally asked anxiously. "I didn't have work, and my flat's horrible."

"S'not," Anthea yawned, wrapping her body around Sally's. Her arms draped around the copper's shoulders and chest, and Sally's warm back pressed into the crumpled satin of Anthea's dress. "S'nice."

"Doesn't smell of you," Sally admitted.

Anthea's mouth twitched; she was too tired to smile properly. "S'okay," she whispered. "You smell good too." She buried her face in Sally's neck, inhaling deeply, "Mm." She yawned again, even wider.

"Sweet dreams, Annie," Sally pressed kisses to Anthea's wrist.

They fell asleep with their limbs so entwined it was like they were tied into a bundle.

* * *

I had a bit of a bad week, so here's some fluffy domestic Santhea for you. They're my favourite pairing right now.

Sunshine :)


	66. Flames Went Higher

**Chapter Title:** "I fell into a burning ring of fire; it went down, down, down, and the flames went higher. And it burns, burns, burns, the ring of fire, the ring of fire." Ring Of Fire, Johnny Cash

**Inspired By:** Drabbles In The 221b Format, chasingriver (chapter 9: Break)

**Written For:** chasingriver

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Lestrade

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

In the backseat of Greg Lestrade's silver BMW sat his boyfriend, Mycroft Holmes, and the man himself.

"I needed that," Mycroft smiled. It was true; he'd been cooped inside his office for hours, monotonously sorting the never-ending stream of confidential paperwork.

"Told you," Greg chuckled. "You needed time away from running the world." He stretched, drumming his fingers on the roof before leaning over to pick up his shoes from the floor. "You got those files you want incinerated?"

Mycroft nodded. He caught sight of his messy hair in the rear-view mirror and paused to sort it out. "I wish you wouldn't do that, Gregory."

"Do what?" Lestrade asked cheekily, sliding closer to his lover. "Ruin your hair?"

"Yes, ruin my hair," Mycroft smoothed his waistcoat over his reedy body.

"If you insist!" Greg leapt upon the politician, imbedding his fingers into Mycroft's dark tresses to ruffle them. "I like your dishevelled look. It's sexy."

Mycroft grunted from beneath the copper's stocky frame. "Hmpf."

Greg grinned even wider, "Come on," he said, shuffling backwards to give Mycroft space. "Grab those documents and we'll burn them. I even bought some marshmallows."

"Why would you do that?" Mycroft groaned, "I can't have those; I'm dieting."

"Yes you can. I said so," Greg told him. "Anyway, you're supposed to toast marshmallows over a bonfire."

* * *

Right, I'm back on the ball and here is your latest drabble. It is Mystrade (and also a link to chasingriver's drabbles because chasingriver is extraordinary, quite extraordinary) and Mystrade makes me happy. As does Johnny Cash.

Sunshine :)


	67. Loaded The Guns

**Chapter Title:** "What a catalyst you turned out to be: loaded the guns, then ran off home for your tea. Left me standing like a guilty schoolboy…" The Eton Rifles, The Jam

**Inspired By:** Thinking about the May Day Charity Fayre which happens every year in the park near my house on Mayday Bank Holiday.

**Written For:** MissMary and our chat about Molly's tiger in chapter 51

**Pairings:** Molly/Moriarty

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Wandering around the fair, Molly, Jim and Sebastian must have appeared an interesting bunch. Jim and Molly played the sickly sweet lovers perfectly, and Seb followed them like a moody chaperone. Molly fluttered from stall to stall with a skipping Jim not far behind. It made Seb feel ill to watch.

When Jim saw the shooting range, Moran knew the fairy cakes had been a mistake. His boss had a fanciful affair with sugar and the result of so much at once was that he became a little hyperactive. His beady eyes lit up as he drank in the magnificent cuddly animals that were prizes.

"That thing's rigged," Molly said. "They come every year, but nobody wins. I'd love the tiger, though."

"Seb's a crack shot," Jim eyed the range greedily. Sebastian hoped he'd be a crack shot; it was in the job description. Moriarty smirked as he watched as Seb load the rifle and take his usual stance. He fired one cork. _Hit._

"Wow!" Molly gasped.

Seb grunted, addressing the stallholder, "Tiger."

"Thank you, Seb!" Molly threw her arms around the sniper. Sebastian frowned at the touch. The pathologist hugged Jim, gushing about the tiger and how much she loved it.

The man who had dared to call her childish washed up two weeks later on a beach in Bournemouth.

* * *

Chapter 51 feels so long ago to me right now, you have no idea. But at this charity fayre every year there is a rifle range where you can win life-sized stuffed tigers, but nobody ever wins the game. As for Bournemouth, I was there visiting my Granny a couple of weeks ago (but there weren't any bodies washed up on the beach) and my little sister and me were discussing the new series of Sherlock and how everything good happens in January.

Sunshine :)


	68. Find Her Name

**Chapter Title:** "Is it salvation? Or an escape from discontent? Will she find her name in the California cement?" Westbound Sign, Green Day

**Inspired By:** chasingriver's review of "Just Got A Brand New Car".

**Pairings:** Sherlock/Mycroft brotherly fluff

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Sherlock!" Mycroft called, "Sherlock, come here, please!"

Feet thundered through the hallway, clattering on the laminated flooring. A round face peeked around the doorframe. "Yes, Mycroft?"

"I'm going to teach you to write, Loki, like you asked me to yesterday," said Mycroft kindly. The six-year-old crinkled his forehead in thought as he observed the scene before him. "What do you see?"

"The inkwell is empty. We're not using a pen today, are we, My?"

"I thought it best if you started with pencil, brother-mine," Mycroft showed Sherlock the finely sharpened pencil. Sherlock stretched a clammy hand towards the pencil. "Can I write my name now?"

"Patience, brother," said the elder Holmes to the younger. "You must study the letters first, and then you can copy it, understand?"

Sherlock jumped onto the chair to examine the page. Mycroft had already printed the alphabet at the top of the page in his cursive script. "Is that my name?" Sherlock asked, stabbing his finger on the page.

"Careful!" Mycroft warned. "You're smudging the ink. Yes, Sherlock, that's your name."

"It's really loopy." Gripping his pencil, Sherlock studied the letters before him. He drew a curve, went straight before curving back again to copy the shapes of his name.

"Perfect!" Mycroft praised his brother.

"I did it!" Sherlock cheered, smudging everything with fingerprints of blue.

* * *

I feel like Mycroft would nickname Sherlock Loki because he's the Norse god of mischief, and have you seen little Sherlock? He's running about wrecking havoc and leaving chaos in his wake. This is for the fabulous **chasingriver**, who is one of the most brilliant writers that I have ever had the pleasure to read. Go on, read one of her stories. Even if it's just her drabbles series, read them.

Sunshine :)


	69. The Law Won

**Chapter Title:** "Robbing people with a six-gun – I fought the law, and the law won. I fought the law and the law won." I Fought The Law, The Clash

**Inspired By:** A comic on Tumblr

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Lestrade pre-slash

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Mr. Holmes?" A knock on the door signalled the arrival of one of Mycroft's subordinates. "There's a telephone call for you. It's a Mr. Lestrade; he's calling about a police incident. Apparently a pickpocket has your card, sir."

Mycroft sighed, "Very well." He slid the confidential papers back into their respective files and brushed biscuit crumbs from his waistcoat. "You are dismissed, Baggins."

"Yes, sir," Baggins left quickly. These sycophants were grating Mycroft's nerves; somebody had spread a rumour that he'd get dangerous if they angered him. This left the new recruits frightened and eager to please.

The politician picked up the phone, "Mycroft Holmes."

"Hello, Mr. Holmes, it's DI Gregory Lestrade here from Scotland Yard. Your government ID card was found in the possession of a pickpocket on Oxford Street, and…"

"How is he?" Mycroft cut off this Lestrade coolly.

"He was rendered unconscious; he's at the hospital being treated for concussion."

The British Government rubbed his aching forehead. _More paperwork_.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Holmes?" The mellifluous voice of DI Lestrade queried.

Mycroft smiled, "No problem, Detective Inspector. Thank you for informing me of this incident."

Lestrade felt unsure of himself as Mycroft shuffled some papers. "Well, I'd best let you get on, then," he said with an apprehensive chuckle.

"Goodbye, Detective Inspector Lestrade," Mycroft said gently.

"Bye!"


	70. Not My Name

**Chapter Title:** "They call me 'hell', they call me 'Stacey', they call me 'her', they call me 'Jane'. That's not my name, that's not my name, that's not my name." That's Not My Name, The Ting Tings.

**Inspired By:** Chatting to somebody about Admiral Bubbles (from the drabble _Caller ID_)

**Written For:** IBegToDreamAndDiffer

**Pairings:** Molly/Dimmock, Sally/Anthea and Mycroft/Lestrade

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Hey Sally," Gene walked to her desk carrying an olive green lever-arch file. "Quick question: have you seen the coroner's report for Cyril Newham?"

"Lovestrade had it last," Sally said brightly. "Go ask him."

"Cheers," Eugene Dimmock flurried away. He certainly showed his youth, constantly running, twirling and skipping about the department like he was on a permanent caffeine rush. Sally watched as he tapped on Lestrade's office door.

"Enter," Gregory sounded bored as he called Gene into the room.

"Have you seen the coroner's report for Cyril Newham?" The younger DI asked, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Greg clicked his tongue thoughtfully, "Err… No, I haven't. Not since I put it with the rest of the file last night."

"Sally said you had it this morning," Dimmock felt confused.

Lestrade sighed, "Wing Commander Sparkles is a liar, Gene. Did you even look?"

"Brian said that it…"

"Anderson's a moron," Greg laughed at Eugene's scandalised expression. "Sparkles probably has it."

"Why do you keep calling each other Sparkles and Lovestrade?" Dimmock asked. "Are they creepy nicknames that you have now?"

"Don't worry about it, Gene. Run along, and give my love to Mollycuddles," Lestrade grinned evilly.

"How do you…" Dimmock's outraged face returned. "Nobody calls my Molly that but me!"

"Does that answer your question?"

Dimmock frowned, "A bit."

* * *

Essentially, cutting out the weirder parts of the conversation, IBegToDreamAndDiffer said that Admiral Bubbles sounded like a name Anthea would use in the bedroom, and then we began discussing what if Mycroft found out and began teasing her, so Sally found out Greg's and they had some weird thing. And poor Dimmock trapped between them...

Sunshine :)


	71. I'll Be Watching

**Chapter Title:** "Every move you make, every vow you break, every smile you fake, every claim you stake –I'll be watching you." Every Breath You Take, The Police

**Inspired By:** When Mycroft's Bored, darkfangz13

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Lestrade, Sally/Anthea

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Greg Lestrade and his team were at a crime scene, puzzling over the body that somebody had graciously left them. Well, they assumed it was just one body; it had been hacked into separate pieces like a grisly jigsaw.

"Right, Anderson, investigate these cuts; find what did this," Greg instructed firmly. "Donovan, there's a security camera up there, see what it picked up from last night. Hadley, Mahoney, go around these houses; see if anyone heard anything."

"Yes, sir," DS Mahoney nodded, donning her cap. "I'll take this side, Mick, you take that side."

"Righto."

Three officers departed the scene, ducking under the POLICE tape. Anderson crouched by a limb. The wound marks were serrated like a breadknife. He snapped a few pictures, zooming in to pick out minute details.

"I asked if I could view the footage," Sally returned, informing Greg. "Apparently, it's not their camera. They thought it was one of ours."

They exchanged a glance. Slowly, they looked up at the security camera on the side of the building.

_And she's holding on my heart like a hand grenade…_

"Nice ringtone, Sal. What does it say?" Greg asked.

"I have reviewed last night's CCTV and the killer has been caught – MH." Greg's phone chimed. "Yours?"

Greg opened his Nokia and scanned the message. "Stop eyeing my girlfriend's breasts."

* * *

I really like the idea of Mycroft and Anthea taking a break from their top secret meeting to spy on their partners. Also I wanted to do a thing from Greg's POV and write about the crime scene rather than meetings with Daniel Castro or Silas Metaxas. Here's a game: guess where they're from!

Sunshine :) x


	72. My Only One

**Chapter Title:** "You are my only one, you are my only one, you are my only one, that's all I know, it's all I know. You are my only one, you are my only one, you are my only one, that's all I know, you're all I know…" My Only One, All Time Low

**Inspired By:** Wholock: A Random Visit, IBegToDreamAndDiffer

**Written For:** insertwittynicknamehere

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Lestrade

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Mycroft Holmes?" The politician answered the phone after three shrill rings. The luminous green digits of Greg's alarm clock informed him that it was ten past two. Unsurprising then, that his limbs felt like lead; he only went to sleep at one.

Gregory was still sleeping, his arms hugging Mycroft's thigh. He'd heard the phone, however, because his grip on the politician's leg tightened with each ring.

"What sort of trouble?" Mycroft asked Lenka Kigaso, The South African Government with the squeaking voice. She was giving him a headache. "Very well; I'll be there within the hour." Mycroft stabbed a button viciously with his thumb. _Was just one night off too much to ask? Clearly_.

Greg dragged a hand through his already ruffled hair. "Where you running off to now?"

"I thought you were sleeping," Mycroft said, making his side of the bed and tucking his beloved in. "Go back to sleep."

"Where are you going?" Greg yawned. "Running off to see your other lover?"

"That's not funny, Gregory," Mycroft frowned. "You are my only one." He leant over to kiss his darling, and his darling seized his pink tie. Greg licked his lips. As Mycroft stepped into the car, his usually pristine suit rumpled, Lestrade smirked; happy in the knowledge that even Mycroft Holmes, The British Government, could look bedraggled.

* * *

I feel like I write these too much, and they're all too similar. So I need you guys to give me three random words, any words, and I'll try to write them into a new drabble so that we get a bit of variation. And you can choose a pairing if you want to do that too.

Sunshine :)


	73. Leave This World

**Chapter Title:** "I wanna glide down over Mulholland, I wanna write her name in the sky, I wanna free fall out into nothin', gonna leave this world for a while. And I'm free, I'm free fallin'…" Free Fallin', Tom Petty

**Inspired By:** The Reichenbach Fall

**Beta:** Rairakku1234

**Pairings:** John/Sherlock

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

John struggled in his dream, praying that it was a nightmare. Trapped in a glass bubble, unable to break free and pull his friend back from the edge. The phone had gone silent in his ear, his sweaty palm making the mobile slick between his fingers.

On the roof, Sherlock tossed his iPhone away before spreading his arms. He was going to jump. "Sherlock!" John's cry was whipped from his lips by the fierce wind.

That sickening noise filled John's ears. A heart-stopping thud when a ridiculously thin, infinitely wise detective met the ground after falling at a speed of… John wasn't sure how fast he'd fallen; he wasn't really thinking about sums. In that one stomach-turning, brain-stopping sound, the world as John knew it ended.

The doctor awoke with a start.

A noise in the darkness rumbled, "Shh, John. It's just a bad dream." Wiry arms curled around him. "It's not real."

John allowed himself to be enveloped by Sherlock's icy body, unwilling to voice his terror. He could still see the detective's broken body bleeding on the pavement, like the image was tattooed on his eyelids.

"I'm here, and I'm not leaving. Not again," the consulting detective murmured. "Promise."

John allowed the whispered vow to lull him back to sleep, like the two syllables had switched off his brain.

* * *

I'm really sorry for kinda leaving this alone for a long time, so have a double update! Thank you all for reading this and bearing with me, and to Rairakku1234 for betaing this one.


	74. Corridors And Automatic Doors

**Chapter Title:** "Running, down corridors through, automatic doors. Got to get to you, got to see this through…" Wires, Athlete.

**Inspired By:** Flicking through some of my old stuff in my notebook

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Lestrade pre-slash

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Lestrade was seated in the relatives' room, lost in his thoughts. All around him were other family members, all doing the same things. Thinking, worrying, and panicking. Praying. His niece had been involved in a car crash, and it was unlikely that she'd make the night. He couldn't think of anything that wasn't little Megan, connected to tubes and wires.

A nurse tapped on the door, pulling Greg from his thoughts. "Mr. Lestrade?"

"Is she any better?" The DI scrambled to his feet. He felt every pair of eyes on his back as he swiftly exited the room. Lestrade followed the nurse through the maze-like corridors, feeling like a lab rat. He was so caught in his thoughts that he didn't notice the man standing in front of him.

"Oof!" Greg fell to the ground, his chin giving the floor a Glaswegian kiss.

"My apologies, Detective Inspector Lestrade."

_Shit._ Greg knew that voice. He looked up to see Mycroft Holmes extending a hand towards him. "Mr. Holmes," The DI tried to act nonchalant, feeling his heart thump. _Stop it, _he scolded himself. _Think of Meg_.

"She will be fine, Detective Inspector," Mycroft said smoothly. He looked at his PA, "Come along, Amber."

Even now, Greg considers Mycroft to be Meg's guardian angel, and truly believes that his words are healing blessings.

* * *

I can't really explain this idea because I don't remember writing it the first time around, but I wrote this thing. It has a happy ending, and Mycroft may or may not have magic powers.

Sunshine :)


	75. Stop Calling Me

**Chapter Title:** "And now you won't stop calling me, I'm kinda busy. Stop callin', stop callin', I don't wanna think anymore. I left my head and my heart on the dance floor…" Telephone, Lady Gaga.

**Inspired By:** Give Me A Label (I'll Make Confetti), IBegToDreamAndDiffer  
**Written For:** Fans of Dimmock's phonebook

**Pairings:** Molly/Dimmock

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"You look tired," Eugene Dimmock informed his fiancée. "Bad day, was it?"

"Mm," Molly flopped on the sofa beside him. "Lily's desperate for a career change. Apparently 'slicing and dicing dead guys' isn't fun anymore."

"And which crackpot scheme has she come up with now?"

"She wants to be an air hostess," Molly rubbed her eyes, sighing. "I do love my twin sister, but she's hard work."

Dimmock fiddled with her hair, "Course she is. She's _Lily_. She's spent the last four years announcing my presence with 'It's the fuzz! Everybody hit the deck!'"

Molly smiled, "Did you know that everybody thought you were dating her at first? Sally told me."

"Sally's also nicked my phone and changed the names again," Dimmock wormed his hand around Molly to pick his phone off the chair's arm.

"All right, gimme," Molly held out her hand for the device. She scrolled through the phonebook. "Should I ask why Greg's That Fit Guy At The Bar? Ah, Everybody Hit The Deck; now there's an easy one."

"Ahh. So Everybody Hit The Deck is Lily Hooper," Dimmock said.

"The air hostess," Molly added dryly. "Ginger Spice?"

"Ginny, from the Call Centre. The one I'm stuck on is…" Dimmock scrolled up to find a name. "This one. Boris Johnson."

Molly giggled. "Could it be the _real_ Boris?"

* * *

I'm sorry that I've not written much lately, but my muse is kinda taking a long break and won't function properly, so I am trying to fill those prompts that you left me, but it's taking a long time. I hope that Dimmock's strange phonebook makes everything okay again. More of Molly's twin Crazy Lily can be seen in 221b Drabbles, by IBegToDreamAndDiffer for those of you who are interested. She also got a few mentions in my Christmas series.

Apologies once again,

Sunshine :)


	76. Work On Friday

**Chapter Title:** "JB's! I get so drunk, I'm on my knees. I go there on a Thursday. JB's! Don't make me leave, I'm begging please. Don't wanna go to work on Friday." JB's, The Fight

**Inspired By:** Discussing arguments for why Mycroft prefers to call people rather than text.

**Pairings:** Mycroft/Lestrade (I'm a Mystrade fan, okay!)

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Mycroft shuffled some papers on his desk, a thousand thoughts trickling through his mind. Some of these were related to work, some were not. Some were urgent, some were not. One of these thoughts was that Samuel Clark, Mycroft's equivalent in the USA, was late.

Mycroft drummed his pen against the desk, pondering his honeymoon. Maybe he could borrow Adelaide's private island for a week. It would certainly satisfy Gregory's curious need for hot places. Mycroft couldn't see the appeal; he hated the heat. In fairness, he also disliked the cold.

"ETA ten minutes, sir," Anthea's stand-in notified him.

"Thank you, Douglas."

Douglas wasn't as good as Anthea, but then again, nobody was. She could text her grandmother whilst carrying a file and a cup of coffee, and she didn't spill anything. Douglas had all the makings of a superb PA; he just needed more experience.

Mycroft's phone bleeped. It was probably Sherlock. Sherlock was the opposite of Mycroft in that he preferred to text. He was antisocial, and a text betrays no emotion. That was the reason Mycroft disliked texting; he liked to deduce feelings.

**Home soon? – GL**

The politician glanced at the clock before replying.

_Hopefully – M_

**Alright then. Keep outta mischief, yeah? Love you – GL**

_And I you – M_

Mycroft sighed, rubbed his eyes and dropped his Blackberry.

* * *

I had my Politics exam yesterday. I think Mycroft would be very disapproving if he knew what I did, but it's over now. So sorry everyone, but thank you for bearing with me! And before you ask, I have no idea why this song. My special shoutout this chapter goes to Douglas, who is covering Anthea's maternity leave in this drabble.

Sunshine :)


	77. The Way Outside

**Chapter Title:** "My name is St. Jimmy I'm a son of a gun, I'm the one that's from the way outside. A teenage assassin executing some fun in the cult of the life of crime, now." St. Jimmy, Green Day

**Inspired By:** 221B Drabbles, IBegToDreamAndDiffer (chapter 4, Bad Day)

**Pairings:** Moriarty/Moran

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Moriarty tilted his head from side to side, inhaling the deep scent of home. It was a cramped place, their home, but it was cosy. A top floor flat in central London – well, it could have been a lot worse. He knocked on the door drunkenly.

Moran heard a noise and instinctively grabbed his gun from the bedside cabinet. It sounded like someone was trying to break down the door. Seb threw off the covers and cocked the gun. He hated second-rate burglars. He crept along the hallway, raising his gun above his head.

"Sebby, my precious little penguin!" The singsong voice of Jim Moriarty trilled, "Let me in, sweetheart, I forgot my keys!"

Sebastian lowered the gun, sighing. He opened the door to see an intoxicated consulting criminal and their neighbour who lived opposite glaring at them. _Homophobic bitch_.

"Good evening, Mrs. Cole," Jimmy tipsily cooed. He waved at the woman, who shook her head and muttered 'fairies'. If Jimmy didn't love infuriating her, Seb'd happily put a bullet through her brain. The consulting criminal grabbed a fistful of Seb's hair, attacking his lips.

Sebastian growled, pushing Moriarty inside. Jim continued to snog the sniper senseless. He slammed the door and slid a hand up Moran's lithe body. Jim edged closer, breathing heavily. "Oh, Sebby… You're such a good boyfriend."

* * *

I needed some more MorMor. That's an awkward sentence to say, isn't it? Sorry, being mad again. Apologies for being MIA; how are you all?

Sunshine :)


	78. Flowers Every Day

**Chapter Title:** "I'd buy you flowers every day, make every day a holiday, and carry on and on and on about you and the things you do. The things you do." On And On (About You), Bowling For Soup.

**Inspired By:** Looking at the flowers in the shops

**Pairings:** John/Sherlock

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

John drowsily entered the kitchen and shuffled to the kettle. He lifted it from its base, carried it to the tap, and paused. Every surface was covered in brightly hued flowers. Daffodils sprung out of a tin on the windowsill. The doctor turned around to unearth the teabags, and there was another bunch on the table, this time pink and purple.

John smiled. Sherlock wasn't a romantic, but every once in a while he'd make a grand display of affection.

The doctor replaced the kettle on its base and opened the cupboard above his head. He reached up for his favourite mug. A posy of daisies has been knotted around the handle. John didn't know whether to continue smiling or to start worrying about what he'd find in the fridge. He went with the former.

John threw the teabag into the cup, poured in boiling water, and let the tea's rich aroma fill his nostrils. He crossed to the fridge, mentally prepared himself for the worst, and opened the door.

Another bunch of flowers fell to the floor. This lot were sunflowers, John's favourites. The doctor picked them up, smiling so broadly that his cheeks were hurting. "Oh, Sherlock."

"Happy anniversary, John," said Sherlock from behind him. He strode across the room and kissed John's cheek. "Do you like the blooms?"

* * *

Behold, one of the weirdest things I have ever written. I'm sorry for going MIA on you (again). Real life's getting in my way, and I haven't had an idea for a drabble in months now, but I'm here now. Reviews are still appreciated and if you can give me any inspiration at all, I would love that.

Thank you for your patience,

Sunshine :)


	79. Fell For A Jinx

**Chapter Title:** "You finally met you nemesis disguised as your fatal long lost love. So kiss it goodbye, until death do we part. You fell for a jinx for crying out loud." Jinx, Green Day

**Inspired By:** 221b Drabbles, IBegToDreamAndDiffer (chapter 16, Oh Love)

**Pairings:** Sherlock/Lestrade (one-sided)

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Gregory Lestrade rubbed his temples. A migraine was beginning to form as he stared at the paperwork before him. _Whoever said we live in a paperless society should be shot_, he frowned. Sherlock was due any minute to give his statement. The copper groaned at the thought. "Fuck it," Greg addressed the air, rummaging in his drawer for ibuprofen.

Sherlock Holmes confused Lestrade. Not in the regular way that he confused and bemused people; Sherlock made Greg doubt his abilities as a copper, his faith in his team, and the state of his marriage. The crown jewel, however, was the way he made Greg _feel_. Before Sherlock, Greg had never fancied another bloke. Now he had butterflies whenever the detective entered the room.

"Freak's here," Sally Donovan announced.

"Don't call him that," Greg rebuked, wiping a sweaty palm on his leg.

"Just because you fancy him."

"At least I wasn't caught in the cupboard with a married man," Greg retorted acerbically.

Sherlock shouldered in, saving Sally from having to answer. She smirked at Greg and departed the office.

"How are you?" Greg inquired.

"Fine," Sherlock responded icily. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"I was only trying to be nice."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Why? Nobody likes me."

"I like you." Swallowtails fluttered inside Lestrade's gut.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Don't even bother."

* * *

Because I wanted to try my hand at a spot of Sherstrade. Sorry if it's terrible, this pairing is a difficult one for me to get right.

Thank you for your continued support during my awfully slow updates and terrible drabbles. It is very much appreciated.

Sunshine :)


	80. You Are Gold

**Chapter Title:** "Gold! Always believe in your soul, you've got the power to know - you're indestructible! Always believe in, because you are gold…" Gold, Spandau Ballet

**Inspired By:** Thinking about Sally's family again

**Pairings:** Sally/Anthea

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

"Y'know you were saying that having seven siblings meant you always had someone to talk to?" Anthea rested against the door-frame toothbrush momentarily caught between premolars. "Sounded like you weren't just talking about petty squabbles."

Sally paused in the removal of her tights. A flicker of sadness swept across her features. "It's not important," she said briskly, extracting one foot from the nylon mesh.

"No, tell me," Anthea said, "Let me finish brushing my teeth first."

"You're not going to drop this, are you?" Sally asked.

"Nope." Anthea grinned, "I want to hear."

Sally's dress reformed as an oil slick in the corner. She curled beneath the sheets and turned a dark eye towards Anthea. "Bed's cold, Annie."

"I'm coming, impatient woman. Some of us value good dental hygiene," Anthea clicked off the bathroom light and crawled into bed. "Tell me."

Sally snuggled into Anthea's body. "None of my family wanted me to join the police, and when I still went ahead with it they all stopped talking to me. Except for Lincoln."

"You talk now, Sal," Anthea caressed Sally's curls. "I've met them."

"Link talked them round. Said they should be proud of me."

"Yep," Anthea said. "You're bloody good. After all, the title of Wing Commander Sparkles is only awarded to those who are intelligent, friendly, kind and brave."

* * *

Have some familial angst, and also some Santhea because they're my favourites, really. I would like to apologise for the long period between updates again; I have been really busy in the outernet and don't get as many ideas as I used to. But your continued patience is wonderful, and I'd like to thank those of you who have been sticking it out with me.

Sunshine :)


	81. Keeping Me Waiting

**Chapter Title:** "I was a lonely soul, I had nobody 'til I met you. But you, keeping me waiting, all of the time, what can I do?" Tired Of Waiting For You, The Kinks

**Inspired By:** Sherlock: Songs, IBegToDreamAndDiffer (chapter 2, A Lot Has Changed) & Not Without You, thisisforyou

**Pairings: **John/Mycroft

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Mycroft watched John Watson's image stroll across the screen. John was desolate after the supposed death of his friend, and Sherlock had given Mycroft strict instructions to watch over him, and keep him safe from harm.

The politician stepped out of the car. He had visited the flat on occasion since Sherlock's fall, but John rarely spent time there.

Mrs. Hudson greeted Mycroft cheerfully, but he saw through her jovial façade in a heartbeat. She couldn't believe that Sherlock was a fraud; she'd known him too long for that. "D'you think he's happy?"

"Of course," Mycroft patted her hand. "He's playing in God's laboratory now."

"Mrs. Hudson!" John called, knocking the kitchen door. "I bought you some more candles."

"Ooh, thank you, John," Mrs. Hudson opened the door. "Pop them there, would you? There's a dear. I'm just going to stick the heating on."

Mycroft gripped his omnipresent umbrella, ready to make his excuses, when John fixed him with his sapphire stare. "Sit back down," John ordered calmly. "We need to talk. Mycroft," the doctor licked his lips. He was nervous. "I know why you're avoiding me. I might not be a Holmes, but I can tell when…"

The British Government placed a finger on the doctor's lips. "Yes or no, John?"

"Oh, God, yes," John whispered, fighting off a blush.

* * *

I'm better at writing Johncroft than I am Sherstrade, but I'm not fond of the way this turned out. Maybe because it's post-Reichenbach.

Reviews are lovely :)


	82. Go To Church

**Chapter Title:** "If I promise to go to church on Sunday, will you go with me on Friday night? If you live with me, I'll die for you. That's compromise." Church On Sunday, Green Day

**Inspired By:** Sherlock: 221b Drabbles, IBegToDreamAndDiffer (chapters 13, 14, and 15)

**Written For:** MissMoustachio

**Pairings:** Molly/Sherlock

**Word Count:** 221 (excluding headers and footnotes)

* * *

Molly cleared her throat. She was chewing her bottom lip and toying with the hem of her cardigan. Classic signs of anxiety. At least she'd stopped biting the skin from around her fingernails. It bothered him when she did that. He wasn't even sure _why_.

Sherlock fixed the blushing pathologist with curious blue eyes. "Yes?" He snapped his book closed. Molly was constantly looking for signs that he was listening to her.

"I know we've not been dating long, but I was wondering if you'd be my plus one for my sister's wedding."

It had only been a few weeks since they started dating. Too early to meet the family. But she looked so forlorn and desperate, fiddling with the loose button on her grey cardigan. Sherlock paused, thinking over the question and looking at Molly's quietly hopeful eyes. "Y-yes."

Why did he say yes? Weddings were torturous occasions, with people pinching his cheeks and claiming, "You'll be next!" And now he was in a relationship they'd be asking prying questions. When did they start dating? Where did they meet? _Who, what, when, where and why._ He didn't even know Molly's sister's name.

"Lily," Molly said. She'd been tracking Sherlock's thoughts by his expressions. "Her name's Lily."

"Why aren't you part of the bridal party?" Sherlock asked. "Aren't sisters usually bridesmaids?"

* * *

For those of you who are interested (**IBegToDreamAndDiffer**, I'm looking at you), I see this as set after Sherlock's return from the dead, and John's in a relationship with Mycroft. And let's say that Dimmstrade happened in this as well, so I don't feel bad for splitting up my top pairings. I just rearranged them.

And have some Lily thrown in, because why not?

Reviews are love :)


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